Summons
by BlackBird47
Summary: Set towards the end of "A Feast for Crows" but borrowing elements from both the show and books...what if Jaime had gone to fight for an imprisoned Cersei's freedom? Ships- Brienne/Jaime/Cersei triangle, Sansa/Sandor, Arya/Gendry
1. Come At Once

A/N- Just a note—I am a huge fan of the books and the show, and with this story, I kind of just ran with an AU idea—what if Jaime had gone to fight for an imprisoned Cersei's freedom? I definitely played fast and loose with some timelines and character threads— mostly to get all my favorite characters in the same place at the same time. :) Ships are Brienne/Jaime/Cersei triangle, and Sansa/Sandor. Hope you all enjoy!

Summons

Chapter One

BRIENNE

"You're so quiet tonight." Brienne stretched out her long legs, careful not to put her boots too close to the still-smoldering fire.

"I'm fine." Jaime shrugged, sitting back on his elbows and staring up at the clear night sky above them.

"You can just say it." Brienne lay back beside him, interlacing her fingers behind her head. "You're worried about her."

"I'm not." Jaime snapped. "She brought this on herself."

"What'd the letter say?" Brienne finally bridged the unspoken subject between them. A letter with his sister's seal had arrived with a raven last night, and Jaime had gone into the tent to read it. He hadn't said a word about it afterwards, but had been uncharacteristically quiet and moody ever since.

"Typical Cersei." Jaime muttered. "Empty words and false promises."

It was the first time Brienne had heard him say his sister's name in months. She had never really understood the nature of Jaime and Cersei's relationship, other than that it definitely ran deeper than a typical brother-sister bond. Brienne wasn't much for listening to idle gossip, but with the way he was acting, she couldn't help but be curious. He didn't seem like an angered sibling. He seemed more like a scorned lover. "Jaime?" Brienne's voice was soft, almost tentative.

Jaime turned to her with a small smile. "Yes, wench?" He suddenly looked much more like his usual self.

She growled at his offensive nickname for her and punched him in the arm, Jaime laughing even though it hurt.

"You're going to leave a bruise. Again." Jaime groaned, clutching his arm playfully.

"Oh, stop crying like a woman or I'll do it again." Brienne shook her head. "I'm trying to ask you something serious."

"I despise serious questions." Jaime wrinkled his finely formed nose.

"All the same. You must tell me. Are the rumors true?" Brienne finally spoke boldly.

"What rumors?" Jaime said flippantly.

"About you and the Queen."

A flicker of hurt and betrayal crossed his handsome features, but he tried to hide it with an expression of weary indifference. "Seven hells, not you too."

Brienne felt her cheeks flushing red, trying to keep her nerve. "Jaime, you're one of the only people I've ever called my friend. You've fought beside me." Her cheeks turned even brighter red. "You…you sleep beside me every night. There's no one I trust more than you. And after all this time…I think you owe me the truth."

Jaime looked right at her, considering her argument, his bright blue eyes locked on hers making her feel shaky and nervous.

"Fine." He said after what felt like an interminable silence. "Ask me anything, and I'll tell you the truth. What does it matter now? Soon they'll kill her. And no one will care anymore." He was trying to sound like he didn't care either, but she heard his voice hitch slightly in his throat.

Brienne felt sorry for him, but wasn't going to waste this opportunity. The subject of Cersei had seemed to hang heavier between them lately than it had before, and she wasn't entirely sure why. Ever since they had reunited, something had shifted between her and the Kingslayer, and it was growing harder for her to ignore the deep, quiet longing that she had kept inside for so long that it had become a familiar, painful, ache. Her feelings for Jaime had once seemed so ridiculous and one-sided that Brienne could privately laugh them off and scold herself for being such a fool, but now…now something was different. Something was different in him. Cersei's iron grip on his heart may not have been loosed, but it was weakened. Much like the queen herself. And it had been Jaime's choice to return to the life he and Brienne had grown very comfortable sharing.

_"You were well away. Why come back?"_

_ "I dreamed of you."_

The memory of him saying those words to her had been Brienne's constant, secret companion in the nights they'd spent apart, while he had been back with his family, back with his sister. And now Brienne finally had him beside her, and what had been the first thing she'd done? Brought up Cersei.

Inwardly cursing herself for her clumsiness at such things, she decided she must continue on now that she had brought up the subject. "Her children."

"What about them?" Jaime asked darkly.

"They're all yours?"

"Yes." Jaime's voice was colder than Brienne had ever heard it as he went on. "She never let me hold them, or love them, or show them a shred of fatherly affection, but yes. They're all mine."

Brienne's plain features softened with concern, and Jaime was gratified to see that someone cared. And he found when she put his hand on his arm, he didn't mind it. "I'm so sorry, my dearest friend. A father should be with his children."

"I agree." Jaime shook his head furiously. "You don't understand. I gave up everything for her. I joined the Kingsguard for her when I was barely more than a child. I watched her marry another man, and tell me it was for the best. I spent a lifetime of hiding with her in the shadows, dreaming of her when we were apart, silently dedicating every victory to her name, while I served the man who claimed my children and bedded the woman I loved. She has been nothing but a torment to me since the day we were born." He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a weary breath. "I wish I could make you understand. How it feels…to be completely consumed by another person. Every thought, every dream, every moment…she's there."

"I do understand." Brienne said without thinking, instantly regretting her words. How could she say such a thing? What if he knew she was talking about him?

But Jaime didn't even seem to be listening, staring into the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "I'm so tired." He looked back to Brienne. "Any more questions?"

"What did the letter say?"

Jaime opened his fist, the crumpled letter hidden in his good hand all along. Brienne wondered if he had been carrying it with him ever since it had arrived.

"Read it yourself, if you're so bloody curious." He pitched the letter towards her, Brienne catching the ball of paper. "And then burn the damn thing." Jaime climbed to his feet, disappearing inside their tent.

Brienne read the letter before obediently pitching it into the fire, watching the paper curl and burn in the flames before it joined the ashes. She sat there in silence for a long moment before stamping out the smoldering remnants and following Jaime into the tent. He was already asleep, or at least pretending to be, and when Brienne lay down beside him, he didn't stir. She closed her eyes, Cersei's letter unfurling again in her mind, the queen's fervent desperation palpable and oddly pitiable.

Both Jaime and Brienne slept fitfully that night, never speaking but both haunted by the same words—

_Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once. _

And while the presence of Jaime sleeping beside her filled her with a longing of which she would always be ashamed, Brienne tried again and again to remind herself that he was not, nor would ever be, longing for her. Jaime was a million miles away from her now, lost in the past, lost in his memories—

Lost in her.

JAIME

"_It's a perfect day for a wedding."_

_ Jaime woke up with a start at the sound of his sister's voice, gingerly sitting up in bed to see her standing at the window, holding back the fringed curtain with her pale hand. _

_ "Couldn't you sleep?" He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, his voice hoarse as it always was in the mornings._

_ "No." Cersei turned around to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Nerves, I suppose." She crossed the room, stretching out her long, slender form across the foot of his bed, her smile widening. "By midnight tonight, I'll be your queen, dear brother."_

_ "And all your life goals will have been achieved." Jaime shrugged._

_ "Hardly." Cersei snorted. "This is just the necessary first step."_

_ "To what? World domination?"_

_ "I'll take the seven kingdoms for now." _

_ Jaime smiled, but it looked a little forced._

_ "What's wrong, brother?" Cersei reached out, her hand on his arm. "This marriage isn't just for me. It's for all of us. I'll have Robert reinstate you in the King's Guard. Tyrion can drink and whore all he wants with the girls in King's Landing, and no one will bother him about it. Father will command a royal army. The Lannister name will have the respect it deserves again."_

_ "I know. I understand all of that." Jaime said shortly, heaving a huge sigh and lying down beside her at the foot of the bed._

_ "Then what's the matter?"_

_ "It's just…everything will change now."_

_ They looked at each other for a long moment, their chiseled, beautiful faces so eerily similar it was like looking into a mirror. Cersei's features softened slightly, understanding what he meant, moving her hand to his cheek. "We always knew this day would come."_

_ "I don't want you to marry him." Jaime said quietly, knowing he sounded like a petulant child but not caring._

_ "You don't want me to marry anyone." Cersei reminded him with a small, sad smile. "But I must. It's just the way of it."_

_ "The way of what?"_

_ "Being a Lannister." She leaned forward, her lips gently brushing the skin right next to his mouth, Jaime's hand going to the small of her back, trying to hold her close, trying to stop her from leaving, but it was too late. Cersei pulled away from him, and in a brief rustling of gold silks and satins, she was gone._

_ "What are you doing skulking around in the shadows, brother?" Tyrion finally stumbled across a very despondent-looking Jaime at the wedding reception. "Every well-born lady in attendance tonight has been demanding to know your whereabouts. The festivities have them all in the wedding spirit, and they're just desperate to be the lucky girl who will someday become Mrs. Jaime Lannister. Or at least the lucky girl who gets to wrap her mouth around your cock."_

_ Jaime grimaced, taking a long drink from his goblet of wine. "Not interested."_

_ Tyrion shrugged. "Fine, fine. More for me." He looked up at his older brother. "You don't seem like your usual cheery self."_

_ Jaime didn't respond right away, staring at Cersei seated beside Robert Baratheon at the head table. "Do you think she's happy? With him, I mean?"_

_ "They've been married for two hours. It might be a bit soon to say." Tyrion chuckled. "But I mean, he's handsome. She's beautiful. What more could love require?"_

_ "I'm serious." Jaime snapped. "I'm worried about her."_

_ "Why?" Tyrion laughed. "This is all she's ever wanted, brother. Absolute power and all that."_

_ "She doesn't love him." Jaime shook his head._

_ "Oh well." Tyrion shrugged. "Hardly the first loveless marriage to occur in the throne room."_

_ "She can't love him." Jaime didn't seem to be listening to a word Tyrion was saying, his handsome features etched with misery as he watched his sister and the king accept congratulations from the lords and ladies of the court._

_ Tyrion looked up at his brother for a long moment before asking a simple question about which he'd long been curious. "How long?"_

_ "How long what?" Jaime muttered distractedly, still not taking his eyes off Cersei. _

_ "How long have you been in love with her?" _

_ Jaime's face drained of color as he looked down at Tyrion with wide eyes of alarm. "I'm not…w-we're not…don't be ridiculous."_

_ Tyrion leaned back against the wall. "Jaime."_

_ There was a long silence where Tyrion just stared at him, willing the truth out of him, and finally Jaime let out a long sigh, leaning back against the wall next to his brother but refusing to look at him. "I never meant for any of this to happen."_

_ "But it did."_

_ "Yes." Jaime ran a hand through his hair, chancing a brief glance at his brother. "Since we were fourteen."_

_ Tyrion didn't look as horrified as Jaime expected. He didn't even seem all that surprised. But then, he'd always been the smartest of the three siblings. Not much seemed to get past him. He mostly just looked sorry for his brother. "Was it her idea or yours?" Tyrion asked._

_ Jaime's brow furrowed with thought for a moment. "It was both of us. She and I…sometimes it's as though we have the same thought at the same moment."_

_ "This particular thought being…"_

_ "We were made for each other." Jaime said quietly. "I can't even imagine being with anyone else."_

_ "But she can." Tyrion reminded him, nodding his head towards their newly married sister. "She's just like father. You know this. Practicality will always win out over the softer emotions for them."_

_ Jaime closed his eyes tightly, Tyrion's heart twisting with sympathy when he saw tears slipping down his brother's cheeks. Tyrion reached out, his hand on his brother's arm. "Chin up, dear brother. The world is full of women, more beautiful than you can imagine. While you've been in the throes of a doomed love affair, I've been sampling all that the finest pleasure establishments in the Seven Kingdoms have to offer. And I think tonight, after the wedding, you should join me. Wander in my universe for a bit. I think you'll like it there." Tyrion grinned. "Though you probably won't remember much of it tomorrow."_

_ Jaime didn't look too enthused. "I told you. I don't want to be with anyone else."_

_ "Have you ever been with anyone else?" Tyrion countered._

_ "Well…no."_

_ "You can't have an opinion on something until you've tried it, brother. Ignorance is not a solid basis for any decision."_

_ Jaime sighed heavily, looking back up to Cersei and Robert. They were laughing about something, Cersei raising her goblet of wine in a toast to something Robert had just said in her ear. "Fine." Jaime said, so quietly Tyrion could barely hear him._

_ "Marvelous." Tyrion clapped his brother on the arm. "Then let's pay our respects and go. I have quite the night planned."_

_ "I'm sure." Jaime laughed despite himself. It was very hard to stay in a bad mood around his little brother. Tyrion simply wouldn't allow it._

_ When the Lannister brothers entered the brothel, the whores and proprietors greeted Tyrion like an old, dear friend before all turning curiously towards his tall, handsome brother._

_ Jaime looked extremely uncomfortable under such scrutiny, staring down at the floor and sincerely wishing he were anywhere else. Well, other than his sister's wedding. Perhaps there was no place for him in King's Landing anymore, he thought glumly._

_ Tyrion stepped forward to whisper something in the ear of a pretty, topless blond girl, nodding his head towards his brother. The girl looked Jaime up and down, smiling and nodding as she accepted a handful of gold coins from Tyrion. She got to her feet, crossing to Jaime, her hands on his chest as she looked up at him, her eyes bright green and eerily like his sister's. "My lord," she purred. "Shall we go somewhere we can be alone?"_

_ "What did my brother say to you?" Jaime asked, his voice uncharacteristically nervous. _

_ "He said I should do whatever I can to help you get over a broken heart." She stood up on her toes, her lips nearly touching his. "Although I can't imagine what girl would be foolish enough to even let you out of her sight. I've never seen a man so handsome as you."_

_ Jaime looked down at her, taking in her full, slightly parted lips and green eyes dark with desire, remembering the first time Cersei looked at him that way. He felt desire stirring within him at the memory, and leaned forward, kissing this strange girl but tasting the lips of another, the girl moaning with pleasure, crushing herself up against him as they stumbled back into a corner. _

_ She looked slightly dazed when they broke apart a long while later, looking up at him with wonder. "Are you pretending I'm her? Is that the way you kiss the woman who broke your heart?"_

_ "Does it offend you?"_

_ "No, my lord. Certainly not." She breathed out. "Do it again." She pulled him backwards into a private room as they embraced, the girl closing the sheer red curtain behind them, guiding his hand between her legs, speaking with her lips against his ear. "Can't you feel it? Can't you feel what you're doing to me?"_

_ When Jaime didn't reply, she pushed him down onto the bed in the corner, hurriedly undoing his trousers, kissing down his chest before taking him in her mouth, Jaime's breath catching in his throat at the dizzying rush of pleasure. He closed his eyes, and it didn't take long before he had fully given in to the fantasy, forgetting where he was entirely, crying out the name of the girl he really wanted—_

_ "Cersei, sweet sister…" Jaime's hands clenched in the sheets as he finished with a sudden, shocking intensity._

_ Once his heartbeat slowed and his breathing returned to normal, he opened his eyes and reality crashed back down around him. _

_ The whore got to her feet, clearing her throat and obviously trying to play it off as though she hadn't heard what he said. But she had heard. Jaime could tell by the look on her face. He sat up on the bed, horrified with what he had just done. Telling Tyrion was one thing, but a total stranger knowing his secret was unthinkable. What if she told someone? "I didn't...I mean, when I said…" he stammered, unable to formulate a suitable explanation for his behavior. _

_ "It's all right, my lord." The girl shrugged, seeing no point in continuing the charade when he clearly knew she'd heard. "It's not every day I get asked to play the queen. I'm flattered, actually. She's such a beauty. Just like you."_

_ "You won't tell anyone?" Jaime breathed out, hastily doing his trousers back up._

_ "Of course not, sir. I wouldn't last long in this business if I hadn't learned to be discreet." _

_ Jaime just gave her a curt nod, getting to his feet and leaving a few more gold coins on the table before he left in a hurry, ignoring Tyrion's words of protest as he walked out of the brothel and closed the front door hard behind him._

_The girl remained in the private room for a moment, pulling her blond curls over her shoulder and examining her reflection in the mirror, feeling the rare shock of demented novelty. She thought she'd fielded every request possible, but being asked to play a man's twin sister was definitely a first. _

_ Oh well. She'd often found that the richer the man, the stranger the sexual appetite. And the Lannisters were the richest men of them all. She counted the gold coins he'd left behind, thinking that if this was the going rate for fulfilling Jaime Lannister's fantasies, she was more than up to the task. _

_ Jaime stood at the foot of the castle, looking up to the bedroom window where he knew his newly married sister was presently fucking the king of the realm. His hands itched for his sword, lost in the very pleasurable fantasy of running Robert through with the blade. Or chopping his head off. Or maybe he would start with his knees and work his way up. He was the Kingslayer after all. Perhaps the time had come to slay another._

_ But killing Robert wouldn't ensure Cersei's love. He knew this. Nothing would. If she didn't feel the same, he would just have to learn to live with it. Jaime stared up at the window miserably, trying to tell himself that an honorable man would just let her go. She was another man's wife. She had made her choice._

_ It was over._

_ Jaime walked away from the castle, blinking back the hot sting of tears, unaware that just as he was resolving to walk away forever from the woman he loved, Robert Baratheon was calling out the name of another, the lost love he dreamed of every night…_

_ "Lyanna…"_

_Two Months Later_

_ "Well, brother? Have you missed the stink of the city?" Tyrion smiled at his brother as they rode back into King's Landing together. They had left for an extended hunting trip the day after their sister's wedding, and Tyrion was glad to see that Jaime seemed in remarkably higher spirits after their time spent away._

_ "I can't say that I have, no." Jaime wrinkled his nose slightly as they passed a beggar man pissing in the streets. "I was actually beginning to grow very fond of the country."_

_ "We'll go again. Soon." Tyrion assured him as they rode up to the castle stables. Now that a Lannister was seated beside the king, their entire family had been given sizeable living quarters within the castle itself. _

_ As they were tethering their horses by the fountain for a drink, Jaime suddenly stopped, noticing Cersei standing in the castle doorway in a shimmering green and gold dress, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him, her expression etched with such sadness that Jaime could practically feel her misery in his bones._

_ Tyrion followed his brother's gaze when Jaime fell silent and still, and when he saw the shared look between his brother and sister, he suddenly felt as though he was intruding on something never meant to be seen. The longing between them was almost unbearably painful even just to witness for a moment, both Jaime and Cersei looking close to tears before a single word had even passed between them._

_ Finally, Tyrion could stand the silence no longer. "Beloved sister. You're looking well." _

_ It was a blatant lie. Cersei looked pale and thin, as if she had recently fallen ill. Or as if something vital had recently been ripped away from her. _

_ Cersei pressed her lips together hard for a moment before speaking, her voice quiet and practically trembling. "Where have you been?"_

_ She was clearly addressing the question to Jaime, but he seemed in no state to answer, so Tyrion took the liberty. "We went on a hunting trip."_

_ "You left no word…with father, with anyone…" Cersei shook her head in disbelief._

_ "We thought you would be too distracted by your newfound wedded bliss to even notice our absence." Tyrion shrugged._

_ "Leave us." Cersei finally did address Tyrion directly._

_ "Oh, I see. Now that you're the queen, you think you can command me like I'm one of your subjects?" Tyrion raised his eyebrows with a grin._

_ "You are one of my subjects. And not a particularly high-ranking one at that." Cersei said sharply. "Leave. Us." _

_ Tyrion shot Jaime a look, trying to discern if his brother would want him to go or stay, but Jaime just looked stricken, as though seeing his sister again was akin to being hit with a physical blow. They had never willingly spent more than a day apart before her wedding. Inseparable, even as infants. Their nursemaid had once told their father that the newborn Cersei and Jaime would cry hysterically if they were even put in separate beds within the same room. _

_ And now, two months had passed where she had not known if her twin brother, her other half, was alive or dead, two months of absolute misery with her boorish husband who had made it perfectly clear to Cersei that he would always love another. _

_ When Tyrion finally decided to leave them alone, there was a long moment of silence in the courtyard, the sound of the horses drinking their fill from the fountain and birds crying out to each other in the trees overhead seeming to fade away into nothingness as Cersei stepped towards her brother, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Jaime closed his eyes, slipping back into the universe where only they existed, a place that, only moments ago, he'd convinced himself was lost forever. _

_ "You'll never leave me again," she finally spoke, her voice barely more than a tearful whisper but still clearly issuing a royal command. Jaime's hands tightened on her back as he gave her a simple reply, just one word—"Never,", both of the Lannister twins breaking down in tears, of relief, of exhaustion, of everything they'd been keeping inside for so long, their bodies now so closely intertwined it felt as though they could disappear inside each other at any moment and become one whole person at last. _

BRIENNE

When she woke up the next morning, Brienne was alone in the tent. She stretched her powerful arms above her head before attempting to smooth her blond hair back behind her ears. It had grown annoyingly long, now falling past her chin, and it felt as though she was forever battling to keep it off her face.

Her mother had died when she was very young and so had never shown her how to do any of the complicated braids and twists that other women employed. Brienne had always kept her pale, lank hair as short as possible, mostly to lessen her annoyance with having hair at all. She'd often thought of just hacking it all off, as Jaime had done when she had first met him. She knew she was likely in the minority, but she had preferred him the way he'd looked after being in captivity, bald and bloody and fearsome. He looked more like a warrior and less like the storybook prince he resembled now that his tumble of golden curls had grown back in and the scars from his shackles had faded to thin white lines across his wrists, ankles, and neck. She'd counted his scars once while he slept. Sixteen. Sixteen imperfections on an otherwise flawless canvas.

It didn't make any sense—she'd always been a mess of scars and bruises from either training for wars or fighting in them, but Jaime, who'd been a knight since before Brienne was even born, hardly had any marks to show for his achievements. Sometimes he looked as though he was made of marble rather than skin and bones. It seemed unfair to Brienne that the seven gods should give so many gifts to one man. He was rich beyond imagining. He was undeniably attractive, known as the handsomest man in seven kingdoms. He'd always been naturally skilled in combat. And though she would never tell him this, Brienne thought he was rather quick-witted for his sex.

She heard the sound of his sword slicing through the air outside. He was practicing. He couldn't properly hold his sword with his new gold-and-pearl false hand, so he'd forced himself to become just as capable with his left hand as he had once been with his right. He always woke obscenely early to practice, and Brienne rather had the notion that he didn't like her knowing how hard he had to push himself to become the swordsman he once was.

Brienne opened the flap of the tent, finding a spectacularly blazing sun beating down on Jaime, sword in his left hand, wearing only his breeches as he feinted and parried with an imaginary opponent.

"My good sir." Brienne called to him, startling him as she walked out of the tent. "You seem to have forgotten your boots. And armor."

Jaime turned to face her, his tanned, muscled chest heaving up and down as he caught his breath. "I'm communing with nature, my good lady. What's wrong? You'd prefer I forget my breeches as well?" He started to unlace the top of his pants with a playful smile on his face. "Swordplay does always make me want to do very bad things…preferably without clothes…"

"No. Stop." She said, blushing furiously.

"Whatever for?" Jaime raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Brienne cleared her throat, trying to recover some dignity. "I just…I just think it'd be a bit dangerous to leave your manhood so exposed when my sword is so very sharp."

Jaime laughed out loud, before relacing his breeches obediently. "Fine, fine."

"So where to next?" Brienne grinned, leaning back against a nearby tree.

"King's Landing." Jaime said casually, sheathing his sword.

"What?" She blinked with surprise.

"I've decided I am going after all. Heartless bitch or no, I can't just let them kill my sister." Jaime shrugged, too tired to play coy about his relationship with Cersei any longer. He was finding it enjoyable to joke around about her. It was nice to pretend for a moment that she meant nothing to him. That he didn't care. "I'll go. Win her freedom. Maybe have one last fuck, for old time's sake. Then run her through with a sword myself. Doesn't it sound poetic? The Kingslayer murders the Wicked Queen. I rather like that. Besides, if anyone's killing Cersei, it's me. Gods know I've earned the right."

Brienne gave him a skeptical look. "So…we're saving her so you can fuck and kill her?"

"No. _I'm_ saving her so I can fuck and kill her." Jaime corrected her. "You do whatever you like."

She considered him for a moment before letting out a long sigh. "You know I'll go with you."

"I hoped so." Jaime smiled brightly.

"But I don't think you really will kill her."

"No? Then you don't know me as well as you think. It's actually given me great pleasure to imagine plunging my sword right between her perfect breasts when we meet again." Jaime ran his tongue over his teeth as if savoring the image. "Why do you think I've been practicing all morning? It will take quite a bit of willpower to ruin something so lovely." He looked oddly thoughtful for a moment. "One way to find out if I have the nerve, I suppose."

Brienne shook her head. "You have the nerve for everything else, but not killing her."

"Spar with me." Jaime said abruptly.

She seemed surprised but didn't protest the sudden change of subject, retrieving her sword with a smile. This was how she Jaime communicated best—steel to steel. "Shall I change hands as well? I wouldn't want to take advantage of your weakened condition."

Jaime rolled his eyes, taking a mighty swing towards her head, Brienne blocking the blow at the last possible instant. Their swords met with such a resounding clang that birds scattered from the trees overhead, Brienne and Jaime smiling gleefully at each other. They would do this all day, every day, if they could.

She managed to push him off with just the force of her sword against his, and the battle continued.

"Gods, you're strong for a girl." Jaime grunted, trying to reverse the momentum of the fight even as Brienne backed him into a tree.

"You sound surprised every time." She said through gritted teeth, lunging forward, Jaime barely blocking her move. "I really thought you'd be used to losing by now."

"Who's losing?" He smiled, somehow managing to look charmingly arrogant drenched in sweat and backed into a corner by a female opponent. He pushed hard off of the tree with his foot, and Brienne stumbled slightly trying to shuffle in the other direction, and the fight was back in full force.

Eventually, it became clear that Jaime had been practicing tirelessly with his weaker hand and their skills were still so evenly matched that this round would just come down to a test of endurance, which had never been Jaime's strength. He could feel his arm growing tired already, whereas Brienne was still swinging at him like a lumberjack, each blow landing with just as much power as they had in the beginning. She wasn't as fast or agile as Jaime, but her strength held out longer, it always had. He needed to think of something fast to end the battle in his favor, or Brienne would never let him live this down. He couldn't lose his first left-handed match against a worthy opponent. Surely his fight in King's Landing would be against some kind of overgrown behemoth chosen by the Faith. He couldn't let a woman beat him before he faced down the monster of the church's choosing—it would throw his confidence off, and the Jaime knew he couldn't win a fight if he went into the arena doubting himself.

Brienne took advantage of his obvious distraction and suddenly pulled him into her, kneeing him hard in the stomach, cleanly knocking the air out of his lungs as she disarmed him. He slumped against her for a moment, and he felt her mouth against his ear, her voice quiet but commanding. "You must learn to focus, Kingslayer."

"I..I don't need combat instruction from a child…" Jaime practically wheezed. "I was winning battles while you were sucking on your mother's breast."

"I'm not a child." She growled, bodily heaving a still-dazed Jaime to the ground, climbing on top of him, the side of her sword poised at his throat. "Yield."

"Never." Jaime looked up at her through bleary eyes. He may be disoriented but he still had his pride.

"_Yield_." Brienne repeated fiercely, pressing the sword harder until it punctured his skin, a thin trickle of blood dripping down his neck.

Jaime sat up slightly and seized her arms, pulling her towards him, the sword cutting deeper into his skin. No one ever gotten this close to killing him. It was oddly exhilarating. He looked up at Brienne, her dark blue eyes actually very pretty up this close. She wasn't pulling back, but she looked terrified. She had a sword to his throat, and he was making her nervous. Jaime decided to push his advantage. He leaned closer to her, his voice low. "Do it. Kill me. Make everyone's lives a hell of a lot easier. Cersei will rot for her sins, like she deserves. My brother will be free of us both at last. And with me gone, you'll be the greatest swordsman in seven kingdoms—"

He never got to finish his speech, simply because he could no longer speak with Brienne's mouth crushed against his. Jaime was too stunned to react for a moment, vaguely relieved to hear her sword clatter to the ground beside them. Now she was clutching his face in her hands with that strong grip as she kissed him, hard and passionate, so unabashedly clear in her intentions. She was kissing him because she wanted him. That was it. Whenever Cersei kissed him, there was always a catch. I'll do this, if you'll do something for me. I'll kiss you to get my way or win an argument. It was never like this. It was never simple.

And for a moment, simple was what he wanted, a welcome respite from the torture and pain he'd endured at the hands of love thus far. Jaime closed his eyes and kissed her back, finding it surprisingly pleasurable when Brienne made a small sound as he parted her lips with his. She tasted completely different than Cersei. Cersei's lips were full and soft, and she always tasted of honey and cloves. Brienne's lips were slightly chapped from the heat, and she tasted salty and earthy and…real. She employed no tricks to make herself desirable, and Jaime rather liked it. He wondered— had she ever kissed anyone like this? Had she ever kissed anyone at all?

Well, if she hadn't, she was learning fast, rolling onto her back and pulling him forcefully with her, Jaime on top of her as they kissed, his hand sliding under her thin shirt and going to her breast, finding himself growing hard as he felt her nipple raised and erect against his palm. He'd never really given Brienne's breasts much thought before now, except to make some kind of cruel joke about how small they were, but now that they were in his hands, he was finding the truth in something Tyrion had once told him. Breasts are breasts. And perfect breasts are usually attached to very cruel women.

Brienne was shoving her own breeches down and unlacing his before Jaime even really knew what was happening. Maybe he had been wrong about her. She'd always seemed so shy and embarrassed when he made any kind of reference to fucking, but this was not the way of a blushing virgin. She sat back on one elbow, arching her hips up and guiding him inside her, Jaime groaning against her neck as he thrust into her for the first time. Brienne's hand tangled in his hair, her lips pressed against his ear again, her next words making him so hard he thought he was going to explode.

"You can do better than that."

Jaime growled, pinning her arms over her head on the ground, kissing her this time instead of just letting himself be kissed, Brienne seemingly amused by something, smiling against his mouth as Jaime moved inside her again, her smile fading and breath quickening as he finally fucked her so hard that she drew blood when she bit down on his shoulder at the moment of release.

Afterwards, Jaime pulled back to look at her, finding Brienne staring up at him, her cheeks flushed and her expression stunned. He reached down almost tentatively, smoothing a sweaty strand of blond hair back off her face.

"Well…I've never done that with any of my other sparring partners." Jaime grinned.

"Shh. Don't ruin it." Her voice sounded different than he had ever heard it, quiet and gentle. She reached up, her thumb resting on his mouth. "You don't have to laugh at everything, you know."

"Apologies, my lady." Jaime swallowed hard, suddenly feeling much more exposed than he had while they were fucking. She was looking at him so intently, her big blue eyes so full of affection and understanding that Jaime suddenly realized why he was scared. In that moment, and possibly for many moments before that had passed him by unseen, she _knew_ him, truly knew him, perhaps in a way no one else ever had.

There was a long moment between them, until Brienne seemed to grow nervous as well. She pressed her lips together before patting his shoulder. "We should go. You…you have a sister to save."

"Right." Jaime climbed off of her, pulling back on what little clothes he had been wearing as Brienne got redressed as well, turning away from him, blushing again, seeming as shy and reserved as ever. It was like she'd been momentarily possessed, Jaime thought with a small smile, looking where her precious sword had been tossed so carelessly aside in the woods.

He wondered if that particular carnal impulse would ever overtake her again. Jaime had no idea how he had coaxed it out of her, so he had very little idea how to do it again, but he sincerely hoped he would stumble across the answer sometime during the rest of their journey. It had been so long since he'd been with a woman, and his relationship with Cersei seemed so hopelessly strained, that Jaime had done everything in his power to just shut off that part of himself completely. Like those smug Night Watchmen. Or that soft-handed eunuch from the council.

But clearly Jaime Lannister was not meant for the black, or lopping his balls off. He had never been entirely sure what he _was_ meant for, but he did now know that ending his days in the arms of a woman had to be part of the equation.

It felt like Brienne had just brought him back to life. Now he just had to figure out what to do with that life.

He finished getting dressed, resheathing his sword and turning to Brienne, who was packing up their tent.

"Brienne." He spoke suddenly.

She looked up with surprise. They so rarely called each other by their given names that the sound caught her off guard. "Jaime?" She returned the favor.

"What do you think I should do?" He hoped she understood the question when he wasn't even certain what exactly he was asking.

"Make things right with your family." Brienne finished packing up their things, tossing him his heavy bag as if it weighed nothing. "All of them."

_Two Weeks Later_

CERSEI

"You have a visitor, Your Grace."

At the sound of her Royal Guard's voice, Cersei didn't turn to see who had come, just clutching the bars in her window more tightly. "I told you, I don't want to see anyone. They've already taken everything away from me. Soon they'll take my life. What more do they want?"

"A little appreciation, for starters."

Cersei turned around, her eyes filling with tears immediately at the sight of her brother. "Jaime." She breathed out. "I knew you'd come."

The guard looked nervously between the Lannisters. "Shall I go, Your Grace?"

"No. Stay." Jaime said sharply to the guard. "This won't take long."

"I wouldn't think so. Not after all this time." Cersei smirked, stepping towards him. "But I didn't know you'd become such an exhibitionist, dear brother."

"Be quiet and listen to me." Jaime caught his sister by the arms, holding her out at a respectable, sibling-like distance. "I'll be your Champion. I'll fight for you. But I have a condition."

"Anything." She purred, her hands sliding up his chest.

"I happen to know our little brother is traveling near King's Landing with his wife. You will write to him, a letter even more heartfelt than the impassioned plea you sent my way. You will tell him you are so very sorry for accusing him of murdering Joffrey, and that you know you were wrong. You will invite both him and Sansa to a dinner here at the palace upon the time of your release where you will properly apologize in person."

"You can't be serious." Cersei looked horrified at the idea of having to face up to any more of her past sins.

"It's that or certain death, dear sister." Jaime shrugged. "If I'm going through all of this trouble, you're doing something for me. I'm not saving you so you can go prancing through the kingdoms spreading more lies about Tyrion."

"Why are you so worried about Tyrion?" Cersei snapped. "Or have you forgotten which sibling regularly fucks you?"

The guard looked so uncomfortable Jaime thought he might start crawling the walls if they didn't let him leave. Jaime decided to be kind, signaling for him to go before turning back to Cersei once they were alone. "You haven't fucked me in years. You don't have that card to play anymore. Sorry."

"But I will. Once I'm free." Cersei promised him fervently. "I'll be yours, only yours. We can have more children. We can leave this horrible place, take our rightful thrones at Casterly Rock together, where we belong. We can rule together, just like you always wanted…" she leaned in to kiss him, but Jaime looked down at the last moment.

But he didn't pull away like before. She sensed something shift in him, a change that would be imperceptible to everyone but her. But she felt it, when she'd promised him the future he'd always begged for. He still wanted her...maybe even still loved her. He wanted to give in.

Jaime reached out to her, his hand resting on her smooth cheek, their foreheads touching. He breathed her in for a moment, and Cersei smiled triumphantly, tilting her chin up to be kissed. He wouldn't make her do this crazy thing. He'd save her, and they'd be together at last. But just when she was starting to truly think she'd won—

"Write the letter." He stepped away from her, looking as if he was mentally trying to shake himself out of some kind of stupor. "And if I'm not satisfied with what you've written…I'll be in the crowd cheering when they hand the Septon your head."

Jaime left a stunned Cersei alone in her prison cell, passing by the guard who was clearly trying to pretend like he hadn't been listening. "When you tell the story to all your little friends in armor, you can say I fucked her." Jaime muttered under his breath. "My brother tells me palace gossip has grown a little stale."

"Why? Why do so much for the Imp?" The guard asked curiously.

"He's my little brother." Jaime said simply. "And he hates that name. Don't ever use it again."

"Yes, my lord." The guard nodded nervously, thinking that if he wasn't careful, one or both of the Lannisters was going to put him to death before the end of this.

TYRION

"What troubles you, wife?" Tyrion found Sansa sitting on the edge of the bed in their current inn lodgings, looking more distraught than he'd ever seen her. Tyrion pressed a kiss against her hand, sitting beside her and awaiting her answer.

"There was a letter for you." Sansa said softly.

"Oh, yes? From who?"

"Your sister."

Tyrion's brow furrowed with confusion. "Haven't they killed her yet?"

"Apparently not. She's invited us to dinner. To apologize."

"Apologize? What, to you, for years of tyrannical abuse?" Tyrion laughed.

"No. To you, for wrongly accusing you of murdering her son."

Tyrion had no clever retort to this. He wearily rubbed his forehead, and Sansa could practically hear the wheels in his formidable mind turning. "Jaime's put her up to this. In exchange for her freedom." Tyrion said at last.

"So we're not going?" Sansa asked him, looking relieved.

"I have half a mind to go. Just out of morbid curiosity."

Sansa shook her head, clearly outraged. "I can't believe you'd make me go back there."

"You don't feel safe with me, my pet?" Tyrion said with mock offense.

"The Hound." Sansa said suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Bring me the Hound, as my personal guard, and I'll go with you to King's Landing."

Tyrion sighed, looking at her with that almost fatherly expression that always infuriated her. "Most believe the man to be dead, my dear."

"He's not." Sansa said quickly, not daring to voice her next thought, never wanting to give any clue that could reveal her most closely guarded secret. _If he was dead, I would know it._

Tyrion ran a hand through his hair. "If I can find him, you'll come with me."

"Yes."

"Then I'll find him. The thought of my sister being forced to grovel at my feet is just too appealing."

"I do not understand why you still care what they think about you." Sansa shook her head.

"They're my family. Even after everything, they're still my family." Tyrion said, surprised to find himself feeling defensive of Jaime and even Cersei. "We can't all gather around the fire every night and sing songs of the North like the Starks."

Sansa looked at him, her eyes flashing with anger. For a moment, Tyrion thought she was going to slap him. But she didn't. His young wife managed to suppress her emotions as always, but when she spoke, her voice was colder and harder than Tyrion had ever heard it. "Don't ever talk about my family again." She rose to her feet, smoothing down her sky blue dress and leaving the room without another word, closing the door hard behind her. Tyrion sighed, falling back on the bed and suddenly feeling very old indeed.

A/N- Until chapter two—unofficially titled the Dinner Party From Hell. Cersei finds out about Jaime and Brienne, Sansa gets her Hound back, and Tyrion can't seem to escape his past…reviews=love!


	2. The Sweetest Poison

A/N- The story continues…I hope you all enjoy!

Summons

Chapter Two

SANSA

Sansa cursed under her breath when she pricked her finger with her sewing needle. She sucked the wounded finger for a moment, looking down at her other hand to find that it was shaking violently. She set her sewing aside with a sigh, unable to focus, unable to do anything but listen for the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. But all was silent on their top floor of the inn. She rose to her feet, going to the mirror and examining her reflection. Her hair had never been this long before, falling in loose waves almost past her waist when it was down like this. She would have had her handmaiden put it up, but she remembered once that Sandor had complimented it when she wore it down.

_"You like it?" _

_ "Like fire, with threads of gold."_

He had said it so casually, so offhandedly, that he might as well have been commenting on the weather, but she had never forgotten his words. She had always hated her bright red hair when she was younger, wishing it had at least been a dark Tully auburn like her mother's, not ugly old carrot red. She never thought any man would see it as a desirable feature. Joffrey had told her once that he had heard red-headed women made much better whores than wives. Little did he know, Sansa thought ruefully. I'm no better at being a wife than I would be a whore.

She knew she should be more grateful to Tyrion, and in a way, she was, but also couldn't help but resent him. He was not the one she had wanted to save her, but he had. So what were they to do now? She didn't love him, and he knew it. The thought of performing her wifely duties turned her stomach. And while he was always kind to her, it was the kindness an old man shows a spoiled little child, occasionally giving them trinkets and treats to shut them up but never looking upon her as an adult, an equal. Sansa was eighteen now, but she felt a hundred years old sometimes. Other times she still felt like a little girl who just wanted to bury her head in her mother's skirts and cry until there were no more tears left.

But she would never have the chance. Her mother was gone. Sansa set her jaw in a hard line, unknowingly imitating the face her mother always made before completing an unpleasant task. There was no more mother, or father, or Robb or Jon, to protect her or shield her from the world. She would most likely never see home again. It was time to begin making her own way, without constantly looking to the dead for comfort. She couldn't just sleepwalk through her life forever. It was time to wake up.

Suddenly there was a knock at her door. Sansa turned away from the mirror, surprised. After all her anxious waiting, she had disappeared so deep into her thoughts that she hadn't even heard anyone approaching. "Who is it?"

"Your beloved husband." Tyrion replied, speaking in the voice that made Sansa think he was constantly mocking her. "I've brought you a present, my dear."

"C-Come in." Sansa replied, her voice unsteady. Surely, even Tyrion wasn't crafty enough to track down a man who'd been missing for years in the five days that he'd been gone.

Tyrion opened the door, and Sansa's breath caught in her throat. Sandor stood behind him, clothed in some kind of all black religious garb she had seen the septons of the Seven wear in church. "Your Hound, sweet lady." Tyrion gave her a little bow. "I had no time to purchase a leash and a collar, but I seem to remember him being fairly adept at following close to your heels."

_Don't talk about him like that! _Sansa wanted to stamp her foot and scream, but she didn't. The Lannisters always talked about and to Sandor in this outrageous, derogatory way, but if it bothered him, he never showed it. He barely even seemed to be listening, staring down at his feet. Sansa studied his face, noticing new—and seemingly fresh—scars, small changes, deeper lines around his eyes, silently begging him to look at her, to still find her beautiful. He finally did look up at her, and when their eyes met, Sansa had to clutch the back of her chair to stay standing. It was still there—that strange, electric energy that had always been there between them. She couldn't explain it, but she had never been able to forget him, or that night in King's Landing, even after all these years. Even as a scared little girl, a part of her had been comforted by how powerful he was. Now, as a woman, she felt something else in his presence. Something that frightened her in an entirely different way.

Tyrion looked between his wife and the Hound in the silence that followed his words, the briefest sadness in his eyes before his expression reverted to his usual amicable indifference. "Well, I suppose we should all ready ourselves for the journey to King's Landing. Dearest wife, I'm having our things packed as we speak. Hound, I've reserved you a den downstairs. I suggest you get some rest tonight. Protecting my wife from the horrors of the Capitol and my demented family will surely prove tiresome work."

Sandor looked away from Sansa at last, giving Tyrion a curt nod and disappearing down the stairs. "Where did you find him?" Sansa asked her husband once they were alone.

"A monastery of all places." Tyrion laughed, crossing the room to pour himself a cup of wine. "The dog's found religion, apparently."

"He looked like he'd been in a fight." Sansa crossed her arms over her chest.

Tyrion turned to his wife, chuckling at her accusatory tone. "Well, it wasn't with me, dearest. I would require a sizeable ladder to inflict those wounds, and only if the Hound would stand still long enough for me to climb it. I thought you'd be happy I found your favorite pet."

"He's not my pet. Stop calling him 'dog' or 'pet!' He's a better warrior than you'll ever be!" Sansa finally snapped, years of frustration towards the snobbish, entitled Lannisters all being aimed at Tyrion.

Tyrion took a long drink from his cup, looking at her curiously. "Why are you so angry with me? I've done everything you've ever asked of me."

"That's not enough to make someone love you." Sansa said cruelly.

"No, I suppose not. Perhaps I should have someone hold my face down to burning coals. Give me some nice, tragic wounds." Tyrion took another sip of his wine, suddenly wanting very badly to be drunk. "Then maybe my wife will start sleeping with _my_ cloak under her pillow."

He left on those words to his own bedchamber, and Sansa felt like he had just stripped her naked. She raced to her bed to see if it was gone, but no, the Hound's cloak was under her pillow just as it always was. How had Tyrion known? They never shared a bedchamber, not since their disastrous wedding night that had ended with Tyrion comforting a sobbing, terrified Sansa by telling her he would never come to her bed again unless she wanted him to, which for three years now, had meant never. Was he spying on her? Did he have her handmaiden report back to him? Sansa curled up in her bed, thinking of sneaky rotten Tyrion. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling violated and furious, and just the tiniest bit ashamed.

ARYA

_No. I must not give into this. _Arya hunched over, her hand clenched on the wagon wheel, her stomach churning violently as she tried to suck in a deep enough breath to successfully keep her dinner down. In her sixteen years of life thus far, she had so rarely been ill that this recent bout of near-constant nausea was taking a much harder toll on her then she would have liked.

She heard the sounds of laughter and talking from the rest of the camp still finishing their dinner nearby. Someone would notice her absence and come looking for her soon. Arya straightened back up, tossing her long dark braid over her shoulder. She couldn't do this now.

_No one can know._ She reminded herself. Not now, when they were so close.

"Arya?"

She squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of Gendry's voice, cursing inwardly. She felt his hands on her arms, felt his strong, comforting presence behind her, a now-familiar warmth spreading through her when he was this close.

"What's wrong?" He asked quietly, his breath against the side of her neck.

"Nothing." Arya said defensively, turning around to face him.

"You barely touched your dinner. And after all the trouble you took to kill it."

"I'm not hungry."

Gendry's brow furrowed. "You're always hungry."

"Go back to the men. They need you."

Gendry sighed, losing patience. "Arya, if you're sick, you're sick. Just tell me so I can delegate your duties and you can get some rest. I won't see it as a weakness, I promise."

_But they will_, Arya thought of the troops already unhappy with her serving at the head of Gendry's army. They had been stealthily moving towards the capitol with the aim of recapturing the throne in the Baratheon name ever since they had learned the truth of Gendry's parentage from a captured Lannister soldier.

"I'm fine." Arya said stubbornly. "I'm just…ready to reach King's Landing. Ready to fight."

Gendry shook his head. He knew her too well. "We can't start keeping things from each other. Not now. Not when we're this close. I expect more from my first lieutenant." He swallowed hard, lowering his voice. "More from my wife."

Arya sighed, rubbing her forehead wearily. "Maybe we shouldn't have—"

"Don't." He stepped forward, his hands on her shoulders. "Don't say that."

"You've never regretted marrying me?" She looked up at him. "When the men call you names and laugh at you for letting your wife fight beside you? You've never wanted to take any of it back?"

"Never." He leaned forward, kissing her. "I love you. And what's done is done. We can't take any of it back."

"I know that." Arya said sharply, her hand unconsciously going to her stomach.

Gendry looked down at her stomach for a moment, his eyes widening as they met his wife's again. "Are you…"

"Yes, all right? Yes." Her eyes narrowed defiantly. "But it doesn't change anything. I'm still fighting beside you. We're still going to win the throne together."

"Arya, I'm so sorry…." Gendry ran a hand through his dark hair, looking so stricken with guilt that she had to laugh.

"What are you sorry for? It was both of us. It's not as if you forced yourself on me." Arya smiled slightly. "You might even say it was more my doing than yours. At first."

Gendry shook his head. "We should have waited. Until it was safe. Until…"

"Until what? All the fighting ends?" She reached up, her hand on his cheek, suddenly realizing something. "It was never going to be safe for us to be together. You're a king. I'm a warrior. We will always be battling for something. And our child will grow up in a better world once you're the man leading it." She guided his hand to her stomach. "This isn't a reason to surrender. This is just a reason to fight even harder."

"You won't even consider stepping back from the front lines?"

Arya shook her head. "I don't care if I give birth on that battlefield. We're doing this together."

Gendry breathed out, leaning his forehead against hers, feeling an odd combination of worry and relief. "You're mad, you know that?"

"You're the one who married me." Arya smiled.

"Will you please get some rest now?"

"Fine, yes." She sighed. "And since you know now…" She stepped away from him, bending over and retching violently behind the wagon. After a moment, Arya stood up, wiping off her mouth. "Gods, that feels so much better."

"No more secrets between us, then?" Gendry laughed.

"You asked for it." Arya shrugged with a grin, Gendry still laughing as she walked up the steps into the wagon and pulled the curtain closed behind her.

JAIME

_"Leave me alone." Cersei sounded like she had been crying when she responded to Jaime's knock on her door._

_ "Cersei, please. Tell me what's wrong." Jaime leaned against his side of the door, his hand resting on the smoothly paneled wood, practically feeling her on the other side. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I need to see you." _

_ She finally unlocked and opened the door that connected their two bedchambers with such force that Jaime stumbled forward slightly into her room. Her eyes were red, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Jaime. We can't." She took his arm, her grip tight. "Father knows."_

_ "What?" Jaime snorted with disbelief. "Father's hardly ever home. He doesn't know anything."_

_ "You don't pay enough attention." Cersei let out a frustrated sigh. "When we came down to dinner tonight, he looked at us…and he knew. I could see it on his face."_

_ Jaime crossed his arms, trying to think of a counterargument but knowing that, as time had gone on, they had gotten less and less cautious about hiding their relationship. Their new favorite way to pass the time in her bedchamber had almost caused them to miss dinner that night, and when they had finally slinked downstairs with their pale cheeks flushed and blonde hair disheveled, Tywin Lannister looked between them, the briefest flash of stunned fury in his green eyes. But as soon as it was there, it was gone, and Jaime had half-convinced himself he imagined it. But Cersei was certain she had seen it, and horrified at the prospect of her father's disapproval. She had been avoiding Jaime ever since dinner, and had even locked the door between their rooms for the first time in their fourteen inseparable years of life thus far. _

_ They had always been unnaturally close, even as very small children. They slept in the same bed and bathed together far past the appropriate age for such things, but their sibling bond had truly and irrevocably crossed the line only a fortnight ago. _

_ There was a long-abandoned entrance to the gold mines in the vast forest behind their sprawling castle, little more than a dark cave mouth that had enchanted them since they were children. It had always been the place where Jaime and Cersei knew they could be alone, the place where their father and brother couldn't bother them, where they could whisper secrets and play pretend, where Jaime could playfully torment his sister by going so far back in the cave that he disappeared into darkness, only to emerge smiling and laughing moments later with a small gold nugget for her. _

_ As they had grown, they still went to the cave almost every night, and just after their shared fourteenth birthday, in the middle of a swelteringly hot summer night, they had been sitting in the cave on a blanket they now left there, finishing off a bottle of wine Jaime had smuggled out of the cellars. They were both a little drunk and silly by the time they reached the end of the bottle, and Jaime remembered feeling happier than he ever had before. Cersei seemed happy too, or at least more relaxed than she usually did. She had pinned her long blond hair up off her neck, and had unlaced the top of her dress and slid it off her shoulders, now wearing only a corset and thin slip over her undergarments, saying it was too hot to be wearing so many layers._

_ She had laid on her back across the blanket, Jaime lying on his side, propped up on his elbow beside her. He had barely been listening to a word she was saying, preferring to stare at the outline of her bare legs under her slip, noticing the way her breasts strained against her corset when she spoke, watching a small bead of sweat work its way down her long, slender neck, not paying her words the least bit of attention until—_

_ "Everyone says father plans to marry me off soon enough."_

_ "What?" Jaime sputtered._

_ "Yes, to some highborn prince who would provide our family with useful allies. All a daughter's good for, apparently." Cersei looked vastly annoyed by this fact, but Jaime looked absolutely horrified at the prospect of his sister being taken away from him, ever._

_ There was a long silence between them, and Cersei turned to look at Jaime curiously. "What's wrong, brother?"_

_ "I just…I wish you could just marry me." Jaime said boldly._

_ "What?" Cersei laughed out loud._

_ "Well, why not?" Jaime went on, knowing he must sound mad but not caring. "You're my best friend."_

_ Cersei sat up slightly so they were face to face, her long blond hair spilling over her shoulder, an odd expression on her face as she looked at him. "That's not all marriage is."_

_ "I know that."_

_ There was an odd, charged moment between them, Jaime reaching out to rest his hand on the side of her neck, Cersei's breathing shallow and fast as she looked up into the green eyes so similar to her own. He moved towards her first, kissing her, his thumb stroking her throat. Cersei was stiff against him for a moment, but suddenly, just as Jaime was pulling away, her hand clenched and twisted in the material of his shirt, Cersei pulling him closer. Her mouth opened against his this time, and she sighed when the kiss deepened, their tongues meeting tentatively at first and then more boldly as he climbed on top of her on the blanket. After a long, feverish moment, teenage impulse took over completely, and they started pulling at each other's clothes more insistently, Jaime unlacing her corset to kiss her breasts, Cersei writhing against him, her hands tangling in his hair, the unfamiliar pulsing of pleasure spreading through their bodies almost too much for them both. They fumbled with their clothes for a moment longer, his breeches unlaced and her undergarments cast aside, and after a moment of struggling together, hindered by overeagerness and inexperience, he entered her at last. Cersei cried out with surprise at the initial shock of pain and rush of blood, but when Jaime asked her if she wanted him to stop, she shook her head determinedly, clutching his shoulders as if for dear life while they made love for the first time._

_ When it was over, Jaime felt elated. Accomplished. Untouchable. But when he came back to his senses, he worried for his sister, turning to look at her as they laid side-by-side on the blanket. _

_ "Are you all right?" He spoke softly, tenderly, smoothing a sweaty strand of hair back off her forehead before resting his hand on her cheek._

_ Cersei looked at him, her hand over his, turning slightly to press her lips against his palm. "I'm fine."_

_ "You're sure?"_

_ She nodded, a small smile spreading across her full lips, looking very pleased with what they had done, feeling as though she was finally, really a woman, and not a helpless little girl any longer that father just could just ship off like she was nothing. "Now we've made this place ours. Forever."_

_ Jaime smiled back at her, turning away for a moment to pry off a black rock with a gold center from the cave wall. He pressed the precious metal into her palm, kissing her once more as she interlaced their fingers, their joined hands encasing the prize he had given her so she should would always have something to remember this night._

_ From that moment on, their lives had revolved around finding any excuse to be alone together, kissing feverishly in closets whenever he happened upon her, Jaime sneaking into her bedchamber when everyone else was asleep, Cersei's hand finding his underneath the table when they dined at night, smiling at him in that small, secret way that made Jaime want to take her right there on the table, the rest of the world be damned._

_ But this night, after their father's return, had been the first time she'd ever pulled away from him like this. And Jaime couldn't see any good reason why things should change now. Soon their father would return to King's Landing to fulfill his duties as the Hand. And then he and Cersei could do what they liked. Tyrion was still too young to suspect what they were doing, and if the staff dared say a word about it…well, the help was always replaceable. _

_ Jaime wasn't worried about getting caught. He didn't care. His life of privilege had left him with the impression that he could do whatever he liked. Now he just had to convince Cersei that nothing could come between them, as long as loved each other enough._

_ "I don't understand what you're so worried about." Jaime sat down on the edge of her bed. "If father confronts us, we'll deny it. He can't prove anything."_

_ "He doesn't have to prove anything." Cersei spoke miserably, sitting down beside him. "He plans to take me with him. Back to King's Landing. He told me so after dinner."_

_ Jaime's face went very pale. "Then I'll go too."_

_ "No. He means to separate us. He told me, very clearly, that you're to stay here. Be the lord of Casterly Rock."_

_ "Not without you." Jaime shook his head fiercely. "No one's taking you away from me."_

_ "Don't be such a fool!" Cersei shouted, rising to her feet, losing patience. "This was madness, Jaime! We should never have dared! Do you know what would happen to us if people found out? We'd disgrace our entire family. We'd be outcasts from society, forever. More condemned than our little brother. This. Ends. Now."_

_ "No." Jaime got to his feet as well, towering over her, his blue eyes wild with rage and desire and conviction, terrifying her. "It only ends if we stop loving each other, and I will love you until the last breath leaves my body. I'll fight for this. Kill for us. I don't care what I must do, but I'm never leaving your side." _

_ She was crying again when he kissed her, and Jaime could taste the salt from her tears on her mouth. He held her face in his hands when they parted. "We'll find a way to be together, even if he takes you away. I will follow you, somehow. I swear it."_

_ "I don't want to talk anymore." Cersei started unbuttoning his shirt, pushing him back on the bed, a fire in her eyes he'd never seen before, a fire that finally seemed to match his own. He pulled her to him, kissing her like it was their last night on earth, and when he climbed on top of her and pushed her pale, white legs apart, Cersei whispered into his ear—"Yes, yes, quickly, but we must be quiet, no one can hear…" When he thrust into her, Cersei sighed his name like a plea for mercy, not from him, but from the gods, it couldn't possibly feel like this if they were ever meant to stop. She wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him further inside, Jaime's hand sliding up her arm as he breathed her name against her neck, going deeper and deeper until he could feel her fingernails digging into his shoulders, Cersei gasping for breath when he finally started to send her over the edge—_

"Were you sleeping?"

The sound of Brienne's voice woke him up with a start as she closed the door to his royal bedchamber behind her, Jaime thankful he had fallen asleep underneath enough heavy blankets to hide the shameful aftereffects of his unintended journey into memories of a time long past. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, dearly wishing he could rub something else but knowing that would not be appropriate. Even he and Brienne weren't that close. "What do you want?"

His voice came out harsher than he intended, and Brienne blinked with surprise. "I just wanted to see how you were." She looked down at the floor, seeming to choose her next words carefully. "I know it couldn't have been easy…seeing her again."

Jaime looked up at her curiously, the arousal from his dream life spilling over into reality. "That's why you come to my bedchamber in the middle of the night? To talk about my sister?"

"It's not the middle of the night. You slept through dinner. I was worried." Brienne opened his curtains to show him that the sun was just newly setting.

"You sure you didn't just miss me?" Jaime grinned, wishing she would just come to him already. His body was literally aching. If he didn't have a woman soon, he felt like he might die. _It really is like being fourteen again_, he smiled to himself. 

"You're in a good mood for a man who could be dead tomorrow." Brienne looked at him, her brow slightly furrowed as she sat down on the side of his bed.

"I should make the most of my last night, then." Jaime leaned forward, kissing her. After their first time together, Brienne had seemingly chosen to just pretend like it had never happened and Jaime had played along, mostly because he didn't know what else to do. They hadn't even kissed since then. But he'd wanted to kiss her. And whether or not it had been the dream about Cersei that had finally pushed him over the edge of sexual frustration, it wasn't as if Brienne ever needed to know his motivations.

She kissed him back for a moment, but suddenly pulled away, her dark blue eyes narrowed and accusatory. "Wait, wait."

"What?" Jaime asked impatiently.

"Why now? Why kiss me now when you've been ignoring me for weeks?"

"I haven't been ignoring you."

"You have." Brienne argued. "You play brother-in-arms with me like nothing even happened between us, and then you see your sister again, and suddenly you want to fuck me for…what? Revenge?"

"No, it's not like that…"

"Then what is it like?" Brienne demanded, her eyes locked on his in that odd way that always made Jaime feel like she could read his mind. Sure enough, after a moment, her mouth went into a thin line, her cheeks flushed with anger, looking disgusted. "I'm not going to be your stand-in for Cersei, you sick bastard." She shoved him off of her, getting to her feet.

"Please don't go." Jaime caught her arm. "I need you."

"You don't." Brienne spat, wrenching her arm away. "I shouldn't have even come." She tucked her hair behind her ears, her cheeks bright red with embarrassment. "_Please_ tell me you know that she only said she loved you so that you'd come and save her. And once she gets what she wants, she'll just hurt you again."

"I know. You're right. I told you, I'm done with all of that with Cersei…"

Brienne shook her head sadly. "You'll never be done with her. You want to be, but it will never happen."

"It can. It will." Jaime tried to assure her (and himself), suddenly panicking when it seemed like he might lose Brienne. "You told me to make things right with my family, and I'm trying to do that. Once it's done, once all is well with them, I'm leaving with you."

Brienne swallowed hard, her expression hard to read. Her features were stony and impassive, but her eyes were shining with tears. "Get some sleep, Kingslayer." Brienne muttered at last. "You shouldn't be making any decisions when your cock's harder than a diamond."

She walked out, closing the door behind her, and Jaime sighed heavily, leaning back against the pillows and wishing she had stayed but rather thinking she may have left on a valid point.

TYRION

"Still awake?" Bronn joined Tyrion at the tavern on the bottom floor of the inn.

"I couldn't sleep." Tyrion shrugged, sitting back and putting his boots up on the table. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"The stress of a young, silly wife?" Bronn suggested, looking rather surly as he sat down beside Tyrion. "I have to tell you, I found it rather offensive that she didn't consider me guard enough for your visit to King's Landing."

Tyrion smiled at his friend. "I'm sorry she wounded your pride, dear friend. But it may comfort you to know—I fairly certain that _protection_ is not all she is seeking from the Hound."

"Really?" Bronn raised his eyebrows. "You think they were lovers?"

"I think they were something." Tyrion tipped back his goblet against his lips, rather spectacularly drunk at this point. "Oh, well. Let her torture him and not me, then."

"It doesn't bother you? Hand-delivering your wife's lover to her?"

Tyrion's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "It should bother me, shouldn't it? But Sansa…lovely as she is, has never truly been a wife to me."

Bronn sat forward. "Never? Never in three years?"

"Thus…the drinking." Tyrion raised his hand to signal the bar wench that he was ready for a refill. "I remember…Shae and I would fuck three times a night, and she'd still want more…"

Bronn blinked with surprise. He hadn't heard Tyrion so much as acknowledge that Shae had ever existed since that horrible night in Tywin Lannister's tent. Tyrion must be drunk if he was allowing himself to revisit her memory. "You still think of her?" Bronn prodded gently.

"All the time." Tyrion said quietly, tracing a line on the table with his thumb.

"My lord…" Bronn started to say but trailed off, looking as though he suddenly lost his nerve.

"What is it, Bronn?"

"Just—just I think a visit to the capitol will do you good."

"I hope so. At least it should be interesting. My brother and sister, despite all their faults, could never be called dull." Tyrion gave a silly little laugh at the thought of Jaime and Cersei, wondering how the Lannister dynamic would be now that the golden twins had their epic falling-out. Perhaps they had since made up. They usually did, even after truly horrific disagreements. Or perhaps they still hated each other. When it came to the strange, beautiful people with whom he seemed constantly surrounded, Tyrion had long ago given up trying to predict their actions.

SANSA

"Wake up, little bird."

Sansa jerked awake at the sound of his rough, hoarse voice, clutching her sheets to her chest as she sat up in bed. He was standing just inside her doorway, his massive frame barely illuminated by the moonlight shining through her open window.

"How did you get in here?" Sansa whispered, her heart hammering in her chest, feeling very exposed in her thin white nightgown.

"Weak locks. Strong hands." The Hound shrugged, his twisted mouth curving into a small smile. "Still afraid of me, are you?"

"I'm not afraid." Sansa said quickly, her tremulous voice betraying her. "What do you want?"

"I pose you the same question." He stepped closer to her bed. "Why am I here, child? Why send for me when you could pay for an army at your back?"

"I don't want an army." Sansa shook her head.

Sandor fell to his knees at her bedside, seizing her arms, startling her. "Then what do you want? Tell me now."

"I…" Her voice suddenly died in her throat. When he was this close to her, she couldn't think.

"Damn you, child." He shook her slightly, his voice breaking. "I had found peace."

"I'm sorry." Sansa felt tears welling up in her eyes, remembering all of it, the weight of his body on top of hers in bed, the way his scarred cheek had felt under her hand, the kiss that she had imagined so many times now that it felt more real than most of her actual memories. "I just had to know why."

"Why what?" He demanded.

She swallowed hard. "Why didn't you kiss me that night?"

His dark eyes flooded with surprise. He knew exactly what night she meant, but hadn't exactly thought it was a memory she would treasure. "I was a drunken fool that night, girl…I just needed…" He stopped, knowing he couldn't finish that sentence honestly without horrifying her. "I needed to remember there was still something beautiful in a world burning down around me."

Sansa reached out, her hand resting on his ravaged cheek again, her voice suddenly commanding and clear. "_Why didn't you kiss me?_"

"You were just a girl then." He brushed her pale shoulder with his rough, callused sword hand. "And a kiss wouldn't have been enough."

Sansa took a deep, shaky breath. "So you wanted a song instead?"

"I could make you sing again, little bird." He leaned in, his mouth brushing the bare skin of her shoulder before he kissed her neck. "A very different kind of song."

"Then do it." She breathed out. "I want you to."

"What of your husband?" The Hound eased the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder.

"He's never had me. Not like this." Sansa pulled his face back to hers, eager for a real first kiss so she wouldn't have to imagine it anymore.

But he stopped just short of kissing her, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. "Never? You've never shared the marriage bed?"

"No. I waited. Waited for you." Sansa looked up at him, her big blue eyes so young and innocent that the Hound suddenly felt disgusted with himself. He disentangled himself from her, getting to his feet, that damned, unshakeable sense of loyalty to the Lannisters ruining the moment. He couldn't bed Tyrion Lannister's wife, not when she still had her maidenhood. He had sworn fealty to the Lannister name as a youth, and those were vows not to be broken. His time living in the church, with men who had chosen a life of celibacy, had taught him much about there being higher truths than the panting, heaving desires of the flesh. This was wrong. His days as The Hound, an animalistic creature operating entirely on primal instinct, were over. He had moved beyond such things. It was high time he proved it.

He let out a long breath, his heart twisting at the confused expression on her young face. "Go to your husband, little bird. Satisfy your desires with him."

"No. Never." Sansa shook her head furiously. "I want you."

He stepped further back, not trusting himself any closer to her when she was saying such things. "I shouldn't have come to you like this."

"What are you so afraid of?" Sansa glared at him, fixing her nightgown back on her shoulder, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

"We can't be alone together again." He said, a resolute finality in his voice. "You understand me? Never."

"You work for me." She jutted her chin out defiantly.

"I work for your husband." He reminded her. "Goodnight, girl. Sleep well. You may be the last one of us who can still claim the sleep of the innocent."

He left without another word, and Sansa seized the goblet of water from her bedside table, hurling it at the door after him with a growl of frustration.

_I don't want the sleep of the innocent! _She wanted to scream. How dare he walk away from her? When did he become so ridiculously noble? Wasn't he the one always telling her he wasn't like the chivalrous, honor-obsessed knights she read about in stories?

She didn't sleep that night, tossing and turning fitfully in her bed, a hunger gnawing away at her insides that no amount of food could fill.

_How long? _She stared up at the ceiling, not caring who she was praying to, the old gods or new, as long as she was heard. _How long must I wait for a love that I choose?_

Sansa heard the queen's voice in her head, from what felt like a thousand years ago—

_"Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same."_

She hadn't understood Cersei's words as a girl, but now, she saw the wisdom in them. Sansa rolled over onto her side, having the strange sudden realization that, when it came to the pain of forbidden love, Cersei was surely the most well versed of them all.

Sansa buried her head in her pillow, thinking gloomily that perhaps she should have pressed Cersei for more advice when she'd had the chance.

A/N- Until chapter three!


	3. I Just Remember the Screaming

SUMMONS

Chapter Three

TYRION

"Not the best weather for traveling." Tyrion looked out the window of the inn the next morning at a nasty storm blowing in, Bronn bringing him a plate of greasy breakfast food and beer to nurse a nasty hangover. "Sansa will want to wait until tomorrow to leave. She hates to travel in the rain."

Bronn sat down across from him, his voice oddly nervous. "Perhaps only you and I should leave today. Let the girl and her dog follow behind us."

Tyrion took a long sip of beer. "What's your hurry? My sister didn't request us there until the end of the week."

Bronn looked up at Tyrion, leaning in closer and lowering his voice so they couldn't be heard over the din of fellow guests talking and laughing around them. "I don't want you to be angry with me."

"What is it, my friend?" Tyrion couldn't help but laugh at the hangdog expression on Bronn's usually cheerful face. "I've never seen you look so morose."

"Last night…when you brought up Shae…"

"Yes?" Tyrion circled his hand, frustrated at his inability to predict where Bronn was going with this.

"She lives, my lord. And she wants to see you." Bronn finally just came out with it.

He had never seen Tyrion look so stunned, but soon his master's eyes narrowed with anger. "Is this some kind of joke? I watched her die." _At my own hands_, Tyrion thought miserably.

He had never really regretted killing his father. But he had regretted his actions towards Shae, ever since his anger towards her had cooled enough to reflect on what he had done. He had hurt her by marrying another, and she had hurt him in return. They were even until Tyrion tipped the scales.

Bronn went on. "When your sister tasked that Kettleblack idiot to dispose of Shae's body, I told him I would take care of it. I thought it would be what you wanted. But once everyone was gone, and I was alone with her body…she awoke. I can't explain it, my lord…perhaps she only lost consciousness initially and it was mistaken for death. Perhaps the gods just showed her mercy and sent her back. I do not know. She was understandably frightened, and I told her I would help her get out of King's Landing. I smuggled her onto a ship sailing for White Harbour, and once she arrived, she wrote me to say she was safe there, and that I shouldn't worry or tell you about any of it. Two weeks ago, she informed me she's been living in King's Landing under another name. And she said if we ever return to the capitol, she wishes to see you."

Tyrion rested his face in his hands for a moment. He should be angry with Bronn for his treachery, but he didn't feel angry. He only felt the strangest sense of relief coursing through him at the idea of seeing her again. Perhaps this was a gift from the gods. Perhaps he really could have the chance to right his most egregious wrong. Or perhaps Shae just wanted to claw his eyes out. It didn't matter. He needed to see her again.

Bronn kept talking while Tyrion digested this information. "I thought I was serving you well by sending her away, by telling no one of her survival. You seemed to have…enough to worry about at the time. I was only trying to do right by both of you."

Tyrion looked up, his eyes softening to kindness as he took in his most loyal friend. "I know that, Bronn. You did the right thing."

Bronn let out a long breath, looking vastly relieved. "If you don't want to see her—"

"No. I do." Tyrion shook his head, resuming his usual businesslike tone. "Second chances all around, I suppose. And perhaps you're right. You and I should deal with this alone. No reason to trouble Sansa with it."

"I agree."

"I'll just leave word for her that we're departing immediately, and she and The Hound should follow behind us when the weather clears. No need to wake her." Tyrion finished his beer, getting to his feet and making his way towards the innkeeper to leave the message for his wife, shaking his head with a weary smile as he mumbled to himself— "I'm sure she'll just be heartbroken in my absence."

SANSA

Her fist was poised in front of his door for a good minute before she finally worked up the nerve to knock. Sansa smoothed down her dress, clearing her throat and putting her most imperious expression on her face when The Hound answered the door to his room. If he wanted to play her stoic guard, she could play the formal little princess.

He looked like he hadn't slept well, rubbing his eyes wearily at the sight of her. "What is it, girl?"

"Good morning to you, too." Sansa said primly. "Don't worry. I won't cross the threshold, so we won't technically be alone together. No one's virtue will be compromised this morning."

"Well, thank the gods for that." His mouth curved into a grin, and Sansa pressed her lips together to stop from smiling as well. Perhaps the years had dulled her ability to play the formal little princess. Or perhaps she just knew her life didn't depend on lying anymore.

In the light of day, it was easier to laugh off what had very nearly happened between them last night. What other choice did they have? Best to just pretend there was nothing between them. It would be easier that way. Until she delivered this next bit of news, Sansa thought, steeling herself before speaking.

"My husband has left for King's Landing already. He said he had business to attend to in the capitol before his sister's dinner, and he didn't want to trouble me with it. He left word that you and I should just follow behind him."

The Hound just stared at her for a moment, and Sansa squirmed slightly under his gaze. _He thinks this was my idea, _she thought, mortified. What must he think of her, apparently plotting and scheming to get him alone, when really she had done no such thing? In this case, Sansa really could claim total innocence. "He was gone before I even woke up. I know what you're thinking, and it's not true."

The Hound raised his eyebrows. "That's a neat trick, little bird. Go on, then. Tell me what I'm thinking."

"You think I…" her voice faltered for a moment. "You think I wanted this to happen. But Tyrion was the one who left without me." The Hound said nothing, his face expressionless, but Sansa rushed on as if he was harshly judging her. "He barely even listens when I speak. I couldn't make him do anything."

The Hound shook his head. "Now that I don't believe. If you really put your mind to it, you could make any man do anything you wanted."

"You think so?" Sansa looked up at him.

"I do."

"I suppose we'll see." She said with a small shrug, walking away but looking over her shoulder at him with a smile, The Hound's nervous expression giving her proof that she had regained the upper hand.

JAIME

"So, uncle, you must tell me—who has the Faith selected for me to defeat?" Jaime held out his arms to be dressed in his armor, addressing Kevan Lannister, his father's brother and the current acting Regent, who had come to see him before the match. "No, wait, let me guess. A man taller than the Mountain, three times as wide, but without the sparkling personality."

Kevan laughed. "Correct on all counts, I'm afraid. And you should know—the man asked to be one to fight you. Begged, more like. A man called Balon. You may remember him—he served with you on Aegon's guard."

Jaime's brow furrowed in thought for a moment before he remembered. "Oh, gods. He was a beast. And a beast fiercely devoted to his king, if I recall."

"Perhaps because they had madness in common. He's sworn to smear the blood of the Kingslayer on the Iron Throne to pay his respects to the man he still considers the true king of Westeros."

Jaime shrugged, flexing his good hand as his stewards finished dressing him in his Gold Cloak armor. "Not the first man to make such threats, dear uncle. And surely not the last. He couldn't stop me at seventeen. I doubt he can stop me now."

"Yes, but you had both hands at seventeen." Kevan reminded him. "And the vitality of youth."

"What exactly are you saying? That I'm too old for this?"

"Just be careful, Jaime. This isn't one of your tournaments. Tommen and his mother will be in the audience for the fight, at the Church's insistence. And no boy should pay witness to his father's death." Kevan heaved a heavy sigh. "I've grown weary of watching him pay the price for you and your mad sister's sins."

Jaime looked up at his uncle, his blue eyes ice cold. "Perhaps you should be more grateful for our sins. They're the only way you've managed to scrape together any semblance of power at all. Tell me—how does it feel to be the Lannister of last resort?"

"I sleep just fine at night, thank you."

"I'm sure you do. Rather easy to get used to the royal bedchamber, isn't it?"

"You should know. You certainly fucked your sister there enough."

Jaime sheathed his sword. "You should really get some new material if you're trying to insult me."

"There's no insult in the truth, Kingslayer. And just so we're clear, know this…even if you find victory today, even if Cersei's freed…her reign is over. I'm acting Regent. And the Council won't let her anywhere near the throne,"

"I don't give a damn who sits on the Iron Throne. And I have no desire to get involved in you and my sister's little war. I'm just here to do what I do best. And that's kill those foolish enough to challenge me. I'll leave the political gameplay to the rest of you."

"A rare wise decision, nephew." Kevan gave him a little nod before leaving, saying over his shoulder. "Fight well today. We'll all be watching."

Jaime smiled tightly back, dismissing his stewards out of the small quarters where he had been prepared for battle. The battle was to take place in front of the Great Sept of Baelor. Usually the spot reserved for executions, he thought with a small chill of foreboding. Could this really be the day he died?

He rolled his shoulders, pushing away Kevan's hateful words, trying not to think of his sister and son watching him fight for her life. He leaned his head back, hearing Brienne's voice in his head.

_You must learn to focus, Kingslayer._

He'd almost been foolish enough to hope that Brienne would come to see him before his fight. She was the only person he really wanted to see right now. She always had good advice for combat, and was such a strong, comforting presence when he felt unsure. He'd gotten so used to her company that everything felt off-kilter without her.

He wondered if she would be in the crowd watching.

He wondered if she would be sorry if he died.

CERSEI

_"Brotherfucker!" "Whore!" "Lannister bitch!"_

Cersei stared straight ahead as her guards marched her through the crowd in front of the Great Sept of Baelor. She didn't care what people said about her anymore, but she wished they wouldn't say it in front of her son. Tommen was still little more than a boy, and he looked around in horror at the furious crowd as his mother was seated beside him.

Tommen clutched her hand tightly when she sat beside him, looking up at her. "It's all right, mother. Uncle Jaime will win today."

"I know he will, darling." Cersei leaned down, pressing a kiss against her son's temple. "He always wins."

"At least the conditions are good for it." A tall, very plain woman sitting on the front row as well spoke suddenly, and it seemed to Cersei she wasn't even fully aware she was speaking out loud. She looked very nervous, sitting forward with her hands on her knees, staring up at the overcast sky. "As long as the sun stays behind those clouds."

Cersei just stared at the woman for a moment, noticing she was wearing a full suit of armor like she was in the bloody Kingsguard herself. What a freak. And an ugly one at that. How awful to be an ugly woman. The queen shuddered slightly, turning back to the stage. These public performances always did bring out the denizens of King's Landing best left undiscovered.

After a moment of waiting, Jaime and his opponent, Balon, were announced. The beastly Balon strode out, his heavy footfalls practically shaking the ground. Cersei noticed he was still carrying a Targaryen shield. Poor delusional bastard. Those days had long passed—thanks to her brother.

Cersei watched Jaime stride out next, confident and swaggering as always, even with his false hand. He scanned the crowd, his eyes stopping when he saw Cersei and gave her a small half-smile. He'd never looked so relieved to see her. She smiled back. Her champion. Her handsome, perfect champion.

The crowd booed Jaime heartily—agreeing to fight for Cersei had not done much for his popularity— but he didn't seem to notice or care, experimentally slicing the air with his sword as if to test conditions.

Once the crowd had settled and one of the septons announced the terms—trial by combat, if Jaime was victorious, Cersei went free, if Balon won, she would lose her head, a possibility that brought on much cheering—the two men went to opposite sides of the stage and at the signal from the septon, the battle began.

Jaime was still one of the most capable warriors of his time, but it soon became clear that age and injury had weakened him considerably. Balon was bigger, stronger, and much, much angrier, and Cersei watched with dawning horror as she realized that for the first time in her life, she was watching Jaime fight a battle he could lose.

Tommen was holding Cersei's hand so tightly his fingernails were starting to dig into his mother's skin, but she didn't even notice, pressing her lips together, praying inwardly. _Don't let me die today. Don't take my brother. Not yet. Not when there's still so much I must tell him. Still so much I must make right._

But it started to seem hopeless. And when Balon disarmed him and knocked Jaime off his feet, and started to charge towards him, sword raised, the audience fell completely silent. Loyalty to Cersei aside, Jaime had always been a rather esteemed figure for his good looks and superior capability in battle. Watching him die like this, for a sister who didn't deserve his devotion, just seemed wrong somehow.

The entire crowd seemed to be holding their breath as Balon raised his sword over Jaime as the Kingslayer scrambled back for his sword, instinctively trying to grab it with his false hand, his gold and pearl fingers scrabbling uselessly over the sword when suddenly—

"NO!" The strange blond woman in armor beside Cersei bellowed the word at the top of her lungs, leaping to her feet and looking ready to jump on the stage herself.

Her outburst seemed to galvanize Jaime, who recovered and reached back with his left hand, recovering his sword at last and blocking Balon's blow the very last moment before the blade would have sliced through the middle of Jaime's handsome face. Jaime fought his way back to his feet, the Jaime Lannister of old, unbelievably fast, somehow making intense swordplay look so easy, and, finally, with a powerful, perfectly timed swing of his sword, he neatly relieved Balon of his head.

The audience gasped as Balon's head rolled across the stage, the man's eyes still open and moving before the head rolled off the edge. Jaime looked out at the audience, giving them a little elegant shrug of his shoulders. "Seemed rude to deprive you of your execution," he said simply.

No one could help it—the audience laughed heartily. Some even cheered. He'd charmed them, Cersei thought, shaking her head with a smile. Only Jaime could sway public opinion that easily.

"You're free, mother, you're free!" Tommen clapped more heartily than any of them, and the truth of his words started to sink in. Her imprisonment was over. Jaime had saved her, just as he always did and always would.

They guards led her away from the chattering crowd, begrudgingly undoing her chains before leaving her to herself in a small chamber in the castle. Cersei flexed her hands and examined her wrists. She had grown so weary of restraints. And now that she was free, she could go to Jaime, and everything would be like before. Her most constant companion and, today, her savior. Today would be the day she and Jaime found their way back to each other— the day they found their way home.

JAIME

"Where is she?" Jaime tried to push through the crowd surrounding him as he made his way into the palace.

"Your sister is being relieved of her chains, ser." A palace guardsman informed him.

"No, not her," Jaime sighed, waving the man off. Right at the moment, Cersei seemed like a distant, hazy memory from another life. He could only think of Brienne. She'd saved him, just now. Without hearing her voice, he would have died there, for all the capitol to see. He must thank her. And, somehow, he must make her understand that at the end of this great victory, she was only person he wanted to see. The only person he wanted to share it with. Everything suddenly seemed so clear— it had been her for ages, really. He'd just been too bloody stupid to see it.

He would have thought Brienne's height would make her easy to pick out in a crowd, but she was still nowhere to be seen. Jaime started to wonder if he had just dreamed seeing her there in the front row, dreamed her voice calling out to him when he needed it most.

Then he saw her, walking towards him, her expression torn between pride at his survival and annoyance at how close he had allowed himself to come to death.

"Just had to put on a good show, didn't we?" Brienne shook her head, the crowd parting for her mostly out of curiosity. Who was this woman? And what in the world did she have to do with Jaime Lannister?

But Jaime didn't seem to notice anyone else was even in the corridor, crossing to Brienne with two long strides, taking her face in his hands, the breastplates of their armor clanking together as he hungrily claimed her mouth for a kiss.

CERSEI

Cersei stood at the balcony for a moment, clutching the railing in stunned silence, finding it nearly impossible to comprehend what she was seeing in the corridor down below. Jaime, her brother, her lover, the person who'd always belonged solely and completely to her—in the arms of another woman.

As if this creature even deserved the title of "woman," Cersei sneered to herself. Jaime must have lost his mind. She started to feel ill as she watched their embrace, and even worse as she saw how the chattering crowd departed to leave them to themselves.

The kiss between them finally ended, and they broke apart smiling, Jaime still clutching her arms, seemingly unable to let her go, as they discussed Jaime's well-won battle, talking over each other in a rapid, easy staccato, using a shorthand manner of speaking and finishing each other's sentences like they had known each other their entire lives. Cersei pressed her lips together, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. This was almost worse than the kiss.

She'd been with other men in Jaime's absence. Many other men. She could forgive him fucking this wretched creature. But she had never looked at anyone else the way Jaime was looking at this beast.

He loved her.

Cersei swallowed down bile at the back of her throat, turning away and sagging against the wall. The shock and hurt coursing through her began to evolve into a very different emotion—a hot, burning rage, towards Jaime, towards this stranger in her brother's bed, and Cersei couldn't push it away or pretend it wasn't happening. It felt like a fire building in her stomach, and if she couldn't make sense of this, it would burn her alive.

There had to be some kind of explanation. Jaime wasn't acting of his own free will. She refused to believe he could choose this on his own. He must be this woman's prisoner. Perhaps the dark arts were even involved, the woman controlling his mind and influencing his actions.

So she must free her brother. Cersei could not let him suffer this way. She would save him, just as he'd saved her.

Jaime had always told Cersei, usually when they were clutching each other after making love, that they were born together and would die together. Together, together, together, he would always say.

Now it seemed she must add an amendment to his words. They'd been born together. They would someday die together. They'd regrettably been parted for a short period, and made prisoner through different kinds of chains.

But now, standing there in the empty hallway, she swore to save him. And soon, together, they would be liberated.

SANSA

"Aren't you miserable? Eating outside in the rain?"

The Hound looked up briefly at the sound of Sansa's voice before returning his attention to the rabbit he was roasting on a self-fashioned spit under the sprawling branches of a tree at the edge of the forest. She had eaten her bland dinner in the safe and dry quarters of her wagon, the Hound electing to find his own dinner in the rain-soaked woods.

There was no waiting out the storm at the inn—it had continued on for days now, and Sansa had finally elected for leave for King's Landing despite the weather. It had been slow, muddy going on the Kingsroad, and she was bored senseless riding alone, The Hound always choosing to ride his steed Stranger out in front, only ever speaking to that damned horse if he spoke at all.

But as the sun went down behind the dark gray clouds, she could stand the silence no longer and walked out through the misty curtain of rain, ducking under the tree branches with sit with him, not caring if he told her to leave, as long as he would just say something.

"Go back to your cage, little bird." He tore at the meat with his teeth, staring into the fire.

"When will we reach King's Landing?" She ignored his words, sitting on a rock across the fire from him, taking little care for her fine clothes as she spread out her dark blue skirts on the slick stone.

"Five days. A week if the storm worsens." Sandor leaned back against the tree. "What's wrong? Finding the journey dull? Expecting me to be better company?"

"You haven't been any company at all."

"Perhaps you should just learn to enjoy the silence, girl."

Sansa sighed. "Fine. Then tell me how you do it. Enjoy your precious silence, I mean."

"It's simple." He finally looked up at her. "I just remember the screaming." There was a weighted moment between them before he spoke again. "Have you forgotten it?"

"I haven't forgotten anything." Sansa shook her head. "Every moment we move closer to King's Landing, it feels like a hand is closing tighter around my throat."

"They can't keep us there again." The Hound reminded her. "The queen is powerless. Joffrey's dead. There's no one left to hurt you now."

Sansa looked at him thoughtfully. "Were you ever sorry you left King's Landing? Even a little bit?"

"No, little bird." The Hound let out a short, humorless laugh. "I was never sorry." He took another savage bite of his dinner, chewing up and swallowing before looking back to her. "What about you? Were you ever sorry you stayed?"

"Gods, yes. Every day." Her brow furrowed. "You really would've done it, wouldn't you? Taken me home? Kept me safe?"

He nodded. "I told you I would."

Sansa pressed her lips together for a moment before speaking. "I was a fool. A scared little fool to refuse you."

"Refusing the company of a drunken killer doesn't make you a fool, girl."

"There's more to you than a killer." She sat forward slightly, her voice more impassioned than he'd ever heard it. "Stop letting the Lannisters tell you who you are. They think me a stupid child. And you a subservient beast. But I say…_fuck_ what they think of us. Fuck the lot of them." He could tell from her hesitant, experimental tone that the curse was new to her tongue, but she savored it just the same.

"Where'd you learn such hateful words?"

Her cheeks were flushing red, everything suddenly pouring out of her in a cathartic rush. "I kept hateful words inside my heart for far too long. I won't do it anymore. I won't smile and pretend. I won't lay down and wait to die any longer."

"What are you saying?" His blood was pounding at the sound of her talking like this, like a woman who'd finally abandoned girlhood, arousal spreading through his body like the sweetest wine. "Are we turning around?"

Her jaw set into a hard line. "Oh, no. We're going. But when it's over…we'll walk out of those gates free."

He didn't question her any further, and she said no more, both Sansa and The Hound falling into a shared silence that seemed heavy with the things to come.

TYRION

"Do you want me to wait outside? Or come with you?" Bronn scanned the darkened streets of King's Landing at night, both men standing outside of the dress shop where Shae now lived and worked, Bronn's hand ready on the knife at his back, just in case this was some kind of trick.

"Calm down." Tyrion smiled, looking at Bronn's hand on the knife. "It's a dress shop, not an armed fortress."

"You don't think Shae will be armed?" Bronn raised an eyebrow.

"Good point." Tyrion took a deep breath. "But regardless, I should go in alone. If she wants to start cutting off little bits of me, she'd be well within her rights."

Bronn nodded. "Then I'll be right here. Should we agree on some kind of signal if you need me?"

"The sound of hysterical screaming should be signal enough that I need you, I think."

"Unless it's the good kind, eh?" Bronn grinned.

Tyrion shook his head with a laugh. "Far, far too much faith in my abilities, my friend."

Bronn shrugged, laughing as well as Tyrion squared his shoulders and walked into the darkened dress shop. A little bell tinkled over the doorway when he walked in, but, at first, the shop seemed deserted.

Tyrion continued in further, down the main aisle, when suddenly—

"We're closed."

He found it remarkable that so much time could pass and her voice could still have this same dizzying effect on him. Tyrion squinted into the darkness, finally seeing her, Shae walking out of the back room in a shimmering gold dress that looked, as Shae's clothing always did, close to falling off of her at any moment. Girls like Sansa or his sister always looked like it must take them around five hours to get undressed if a passionate feeling ever overtook them. Shae had a singular talent of forever looking like she could just shrug out of her clothes at the slightest provocation. Tyrion had always liked that about her.

"Nice place." Tyrion said awkwardly, motioning to the shop as Shae lit several candles so they could see each other.

"Thank you." Shae crossed her bare arms over her chest, her expression hard to read. "Perhaps you'd like to buy something for your wife."

Tyrion looked around at the loose, airy dresses. "Sansa's more of the corset and sleeves type."

"Yes, I remember. I dressed her."

Tyrion looked up at Shae, his heart twisting with misery as the candlelight illuminated a smooth, white scar across the front of her neck. A remnant of their last encounter. A permanent reminder of the only time Tyrion had ever truly lost control. "Shae, I'm…I'm so sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" She raised her eyebrows.

He crossed to her, Shae letting him take her hands in his own but remaining stiff against his touch as Tyrion went on. "You were the only one I ever wanted. I lost sight of that…of you, of everything. Playing the game took over my life. Manipulating everyone, always trying to stay one step ahead—it was like a sickness. And it blinded me to the truth."

"The truth?"

"I love you, Shae. I always have."

"Really?" She pulled her hands away from him. "You have a funny way of showing it." Shae crossed behind the desk, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid and two cups. "You want a drink?"

"Of course." Tyrion followed her to a table and chairs in the back room, Shae pushing out a chair for him with her foot as she sat down on the other side of the table, pouring herself a generous amount of liquor before doing the same for him.

Tyrion raised the cup to his lips, pausing before his first sip. "Wait. Should I have it tasted?"

Shae smirked. "If I was going to kill you, my lion, it wouldn't be so kind a death as poison."

"Good point." Tyrion tipped back the cup, finding it a sweet, strong spirit that tasted of strawberries. "It's good."

"It's from the White Harbour. I smuggled a bit of it back here."

"Why did you return to King's Landing?" Tyrion asked curiously.

"Don't flatter yourself." Shae pointed at him with her cup. "It wasn't for you."

She made no more strides to answering the question, and Tyrion thought it wise not to press the issue. He was just happy she was here. Shae took a long drink from her cup before her next question.

"Where is your wife? Does she know you're here?"

"On her way to King's Landing, and no, she does not." Tyrion sat forward slightly. "Shae, you must know, I only married her as a kindness. We…we've never…"

"Please." Shae snorted with disbelief. "All you ever wanted to do was fuck me. And now you want me to believe that you have a beautiful girl in your bed every night, and you've never taken her for yourself, like some celibate little saint?"

"I would never make any claim to being a saint. But yes, to all the rest of it."

Shae still didn't look convinced. "No other little whores to keep you warm?"

"No one." Tyrion looked over Shae's smooth, bronzed skin, the elegant lines of her long neck, the outline of her nipples under the thin fabric of her dress. Gods, it really had been too long. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Why did you want to see me? I mean, I was so glad to hear you were alive, but…why would you want anything to do with me now?"

"I don't know. To put old grudges to bed, I suppose." She took another sip of her drink. "That night…that horrible night…I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have gone to your father's tent."

"Why him?" Tyrion asked, his voice breaking slightly. "Of all the men in the seven kingdoms, why him?"

"I wanted to hurt you," she said simply. "I didn't think it would destroy us both."

Tyrion shook his head, remembering everything, remembering the fury that had consumed him. "I've never…never, been like that before in my life. There were so many other factors at play, so much with my family you don't understand…."

"I understand all of it. That's why I did it." Shae shrugged, honest to a fault. Another thing he liked about her.

"Right. You're right." Tyrion rubbed his forehead, a weary smile on his lips. "Regardless. That night was the darkest one I've known. I don't intend to ever go back to that place again. And I'm so very sorry…for the price you paid."

"I'm sorry too." Shae nodded, her voice quiet when she spoke again. "We loved each other. It drove us mad."

Tyrion nodded, raising his cup to her. "To love and madness, then."

She clinked her cup against his. "Are you happy, my lion?"

"Happy enough, I suppose." Tyrion shrugged. "And you?"

"Happy enough." She nodded assent.

Tyrion finished his drink, hastily getting to his feet, feeling as though perhaps she wanted him to leave but unable to shake the notion that there was still something unfinished between them. "Perhaps before I leave the city, we should…" he suddenly knocked his cup over in his haste, the cup shattering on the ground, shards flying. "Oh, gods, I'm so sorry…" Tyrion leaned down, trying to gather the broken pieces in his hands.

"No, don't, you'll cut yourself…" Shae fell down to her knees beside him, putting her hands over his. "I'll do it."

Tyrion looked up at her, Shae's dark eyes meeting his, their faces inches apart. Shae swallowed hard when Tyrion moved closer to her, her scent flooding his nostrils when he was this close. She smelled the same, like honeysuckle and sage, and Tyrion suddenly found himself wanting to know if her lips still tasted the same, if that warm wetness between her legs still welcomed him. She leaned in to him, her hand at the back of his neck as she rested her forehead against his. "My lion…" she whispered, "…we shouldn't."

"I know." Tyrion sighed heavily, his eyes still closed. "I think we've hurt enough people already."

"Yes." Shae kissed his cheek, pulling away from him. "You go. I'll clean up."

Tyrion got to his feet, wanting to touch her, to hold her, to possess her, so badly it was like a physical ache, but knowing he had no right to loving her anymore. He knew that, and he didn't go to her, but he couldn't stop himself from saying— "I'll come and see you again. Before I leave."

"If you like." Shae shrugged her thin shoulders, refusing to look at him as Tyrion forced himself to walk away.

SANSA

It was still raining on the King's Road. Sansa could hear the storm pelting the roof of the wagon. Every fresh roll of thunder seemed louder than the one before it, and she found that she couldn't sleep from all the noise.

She had seen his long shadow pass by the closed curtain functioning as a doorway into her quarters several times during the night, and finally, when she saw him again, Sansa could stand it no longer. She climbed out of bed in her dark purple nightdress, and went to the curtain, pulling it open just as a crack of lightning illuminated the ravaged side of The Hound's face. He had been standing right outside her door, seeking refuge under a small overhanging off the back of the wagon to keep dry, his sword unsheathed and ready in his hand.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Just what your husband is paying me to do. Ensuring your safety." He had to speak up over the rain, refusing to turn and look at her. "Go to sleep, child."

"If you call me child again, you may have to worry about ensuring your own safety." Sansa's blue eyes narrowed into a glare.

"Is that supposed to frighten me?" His mouth curved into a small smile.

"That depends. Are you frightened?" She tried to fight down a smile of her own.

The Hound finally turned to her, studying her face for a long, thoughtful moment. Standing in the elevated wagon doorway, she was level with his formidable height. "You've always frightened me, little bird. You're the only who can."

"Not even your brother?" Sansa said boldly, remembering Baelish's warning of The Hound killing her for even knowing what his brother had done to him, let alone mentioning it.

But he did not look overcome with murderous rage. He just continued to look at her evenly. "I'm not afraid of him. I've never been afraid of monsters."

"So what am I? That frightens you so much?"

"You're the only thing I've ever wanted to take for myself." He stared down at his feet, examining his sword before setting it aside against the wagon, mostly to have something to do. This was not easy for him to say; she could see the effort radiating from his stiff posture, his furrowed expression, his strained voice. Sansa had the feeling he had been holding this shameful truth inside for just as many years as she had. "Not for my king. Not for my country. I wanted to have you for my own, and hide you away from all the people who hurt you, and rip out the innards of anyone who touched you."

"Then do it." Sansa said fiercely. "There's nothing to stop you now."

"Only honor." The Hound said darkly, as if the word had personally wronged him.

Sansa shook her head, letting out an exasperated sigh. "The honorable knight after all."

The Hound looked up at her, seemingly just as frustrated. "I've told you, girl. I'm no knight."

"You are to me."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and as the storm worsened around them, Sansa reached down to the ribbons cinching her nightdress closed. She began to untie them with slightly shaking fingers, her eyes still locked on his. The Hound swallowed hard, shaking his head, reaching out to stop her hands with his own.

"Don't." he said, his rough voice almost pleading.

"You should know something." Sansa's cheeks flushed red, speaking very fast. "Whenever I read stories of the great knights, I always imagine you. I was raised to believe that a true knight is a man who is brave, and noble, and good, a man who fights for his kingdom and the woman who loves him. You're that man to me. I…" she pressed her lips together for a moment. "I love you. Only you, forever."

The Hound looked stricken, as though she had just run him through with a sword. "Y-You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying," Sansa's voice broke, tears filling her eyes as she wrenched her hands away from his. "It's all I've wanted to say for years. And at least I've spoken the truth. Even if you never love me back."

"You're too clever to play the fool, little bird." The Hound shook his head. "You know. You've always known."

"Then say it." Sansa reached out, her hand on his ruined cheek as she spoke in a soft whisper. "You're the only one who ever tells me the truth."

"Why must I tell you something we both know?" He faltered under her gaze, feeling as bashful as a child in her presence.

Sansa smiled softly. "Ser Clegane, you must be brave. Tonight, or never ag—"

"I love you." He cut her off, and with those words, it felt as though he had been freed from a great burden, one he hadn't even been conscious of carrying.

Her smile widened and she closed her eyes, waiting to be kissed. After a moment, when nothing happened, she opened her eyes again. The Hound was staring at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Sansa threw up her hands, exasperated.

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded.

"If you don't know that, I can't help you." She sighed, giving up and turning on her heel to go back to bed.

But the Hound caught her hand, pulling her back towards him, bodily lifting her out of the carriage and into his arms, his mouth finally meeting hers as they stumbled backwards out into the rain. The kiss was different than she imagined, sweeter and more gentle, his hand going to her cheek as he held her up with one arm and, it seemed, little effort. She kissed him back, her heart feeling like it was going to pound out of her chest when his mouth parted against hers. She wanted more.

Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself up in his arms to get closer, The Hound slowly lowering them both to the ground, removing his cloak and placing it over the wet grass behind her. She started to untie the laces of her nightdress again, but she was nervous and couldn't seem to make her hands work. Seeing her struggle, The Hound helpfully seized the fabric himself and ripped the nightdress open, Sansa looking up at him with wide eyes, as if it had just now hit her what was about to happen.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, leaving the dress on her shoulders.

"Yes." Sansa said quickly, licking her lips and tasting the rain. "It's just…this is just the part the stories always seem to leave out."

"Depends on the kind of story." The Hound pointed out, Sansa laughing weakly.

"Will it hurt?" she asked nervously.

The Hound hesitated. The gods had not given him many natural gifts—he'd been cursed with a hideous visage and a monstrous brother, among other ills—but he had been told he was unusually blessed with the size of his manhood when compared to other men. Some women feared it, most seemed to enjoy it, but he had never been with a virgin before. "It might," he finally said honestly.

"Let me see it." Sansa leaned back on her elbows, her eyes widening even more when he did what she asked. But after a moment of staring at it as if it was a terrifying beast, Sansa surprised them both by sitting back up and shrugging out of her nightdress, her bare body so pale that she looked almost ghostly in the darkness. "I'm not afraid." She said, pulling him to her and kissing him hard, The Hound taking her in his arms, her skin impossibly smooth and soft beneath the rough calluses of his hands as she lay back on the cloak with him on top of her.

They kissed for a long time, Sansa seeming to like it when he kissed her neck and touched her breasts, The Hound emboldened by her small sounds of pleasure but still unsure whether she would like the rest. When he could hold himself back no longer, he entered her as slowly and gently as he could, but still Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clenching on his arms, trying not to cry out from the pain. He looked down at her, trying to stifle his desire, not accustomed to any of this. Every woman he had been with before, it had been rough and fast and easy, no emotion involved—fucking in the truest sense of the word. But this was something else, and he was just as lost as her when it came to making love.

He waited for her to say something, to shove him off and tell him never to touch her again, but she didn't. Sansa's eyes opened and met his, a steely determination in her gaze. "I told you, I'm not afraid." she said, her hands shaking as she took his face in her hands, pulling him close to her, looking right at him as he continued to move against her, Sansa breathing hard, trying to focus on him and not the pain. He kissed her again, a deep, slow kiss, and it helped— she could practically feel her body relaxing against his. The sensation of him inside her was still unfamiliar and awkward, but there was something else as they went on, a connection pulsing between their bodies, a sensation of calming warmth filling her up from between her legs to the tips of her fingers and toes and when the kiss ended, and they looked at each other, she knew he felt it too. He was just as scared as she was—maybe more so.

He finished soon after, his head falling against her shoulder at the end, Sansa trembling like a leaf but stroking his back protectively as she looked up at the stormy night sky, feeling oddly peaceful and untouched by the world around her, by anything that wasn't him.

When he'd remembered himself, he moved off of her, doing his clothes back up and wordlessly wrapping her in the cloak, carrying her back to her wagon. Sansa closed her eyes, leaning her head against his chest, sore and sleepy but so happy it felt almost indecent. Most women talked about this like it was some unpleasant duty they were forced to undertake to bear children and keep their husbands satisfied, but, even with the pain, even with her inexperience, Sansa couldn't remember a time she'd felt as safe as she did right now. He put her in her bed still wrapped in his cloak, pulling the warm blankets over her, Sansa almost immediately falling into the deepest sleep she'd ever known, unaware that The Hound did not yet have the nerve to enter her bed, instead choosing to sleep in a chair beside her, his long legs stretched out and his sword resting across his lap, ever ready to protect her with his life.

JAIME

"So what do you think of it?" Jaime stretched out on his back in bed, naked as the day he was born, a silly, sleepy smile on his face.

"What do I think of what?" Brienne looked over at him, a distracted expression on her face, still breathing hard.

"Fucking in the royal chambers." Jaime crossed his hands behind his head.

"I think it's not that different from fucking anywhere else." Brienne shrugged, running a hand through her sweaty blond hair to get it off her face.

"Oh, my lady, you're so sentimental…" Jaime rolled his eyes with a laugh, his good hand resting on her hip as he turned on his side to kiss her. Brienne smiled against his mouth, kissing him back. Jaime deepened the kiss into a surprisingly passionate embrace, and the mood between them seemed more serious when they broke apart.

Brienne looked up at him, licking her lips nervously. "I…I was so proud of you today."

Jaime blinked with surprise. No one in his life had ever said they were proud of him. Not Cersei when he'd made the Kingsguard. Not his father when he'd slain the Mad King. All his life, every single thing he'd ever done had been for his family, and it had never mattered to them. They'd never thanked him. Never valued him. Never looked at him with half of the love in their eyes he saw in Brienne's right now.

"Why are you here with me?" Jaime asked quietly, honestly needing to know.

Brienne shook her head. "Why would I want to be anywhere else?"

They kissed again, Jaime pulling her on top of him after a moment, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head when she started to circle her hips against him hard—_fuck, she was good at this_—but just when her hands started to clench on his shoulders, there was a sudden insistent knocking at his door.

Brienne stopped what she was doing, looking over her shoulder towards his door. Jaime opened his eyes reluctantly, feeling like he was falling back down to earth from a great distance as Brienne rather unceremoniously climbed off of him, hurriedly pulling the sheets up to her chest, as thought they'd been discovered in the throes of some illegal activity.

"Wait…wait here. I'll just be a moment." Jaime mumbled as he sat up, taking in a deep breath as the knocking continued. He pulled on his trousers, crossing out of his bedroom and across the antechamber to the door, mentally devising a series of very painful deaths for whoever was on the other side. He threw open the door, his tanned chest glistening with sweat, his hair disheveled, and his expression highly annoyed. It would not have taken a very clever man to deduce what had just been interrupted.

Nor a very clever woman, he thought to himself as he discovered his sister standing before him. Jaime blocked her view of the room, positioning himself so she could not enter.

"Yes, sister?" He finally spoke after a long silence when she would not.

"I'm sorry, were you…sleeping?" Cersei's eyes narrowed dangerously, daring him to contradict her.

"Well, if I was, I was having a very good dream." Jaime smirked. "Can I help you with something?"

"I only wanted to…thank you. For your valor today."

"Don't mention it." Jaime shrugged, going to close the door. "Goodnight, then."

"No." Cersei caught the door with her hand, her grip unnaturally strong, her voice low and dangerous. "You don't shut me out, Jaime."

"Right. That's _your _job, isn't it? You're the one who slams doors and throws fits and ruins lives, and I'm just supposed to traipse along behind you like some hapless slave." Jaime was angrier with her than he'd realized, and after Brienne's words, he was suddenly feeling much braver in Cersei's presence. "Well, I'm so sorry, _Your Grace_, but things have changed. I've changed."

Cersei stepped forward, grabbing his crotch with one hand, her lips inches from his. "Oh, have you now?"

Jaime pushed her away with disgust, but Cersei did manage to get inside his room, shoving by him and charging into his bedchamber, finding a half-dressed Brienne hurriedly lacing up her boots.

Jaime shook his head, pushing past his sister and crossing to Brienne. "Don't, please…you don't have to go."

"The _lady_ wants to leave, let her leave." Cersei shrugged, spitting "lady" with as much venom as she could possibly muster.

"No." Jaime held out his hand to Brienne before turning back to his sister, speaking in a strong, measured voice. "Sister. You're not welcome here."

Cersei raised her eyebrows. "You are speaking to your queen."

"I know I am." Jaime stepped closer to her, the Lannister twins now nose to nose. "And I'd much rather be doing something else, which should be obvious from the state in which you found me. So unless you'd like to watch, I suggest you leave now."

For once in her life, Cersei Lannister was struck speechless. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. She turned to leave without another word, walking out of her brother's chambers and leaving the door wide open behind her. Jaime couldn't decide if her anger was too great to even bother slamming it behind her or if she'd been expecting him to follow her.

He sank down on the edge of the bed, the warmth from Brienne's red cheeks and neck practically radiating from her as she sat beside him in silence.

"I'll be paying for that." Jaime sighed.

Brienne pulled her shirtsleeve back up on her shoulder. "If you want me to go…"

"No. Don't you dare." Jaime shook his head fiercely, "She's not ruining tonight."

Brienne looked unsure. "Don't you think…I mean, hasn't she already?"

"Only if we let her."

Brienne said nothing in reply, lying back in bed and staring up at the ceiling. Jaime lay back beside her, snuffing out the candle at their bedside, the pair remaining in silence for some time before Brienne finally spoke again.

"I keep expecting to see a tent over our heads."

"I know. Me too." Jaime turned on his side to look at her shadowed profile in the semi-darkness, sitting up on his elbow. "We'll be back there soon enough. Back where we belong."

Brienne turned to look at him. "You don't think you belong here?"

Jaime shook his head. "Not anymore."

_Not since you_. He thought it, but he couldn't say it. Not yet.

He could barely see her in the darkness, so he couldn't make out her reaction to his words. But after a moment, she moved forward, and he felt the warm, steady pressure of her lips against his. After they broke apart, she pressed one last kiss against his temple, and it was such a comforting, protective gesture that Jaime's body melted around hers with the oddest sense of relief. She wasn't going to leave him.

"Get some sleep, Kingslayer." Brienne's voice was quiet, and seemed to be fading farther and farther away as Jaime drifted off. "It's been a hell of a day."

A/N- Until Chapter Four! Next time, Sansa and The Hound arrive just in time for the Lannister family dinner with Tyrion, Cersei, Jaime, and Brienne…things go about as well as you'd expect…I love reviews!


	4. Wars All Their Own

A/N- Happy 2013 everyone! I love that HBO has been marathoning "Game of Thrones" like crazy, and it just so happened to give me plenty of inspiration for this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys!

Summons

Chapter Four

SANSA

She didn't know what she had been expecting. Sansa had long ago abandoned her little-girl fantasies of gallant knights and happily ever after, so it wasn't as though she'd thought she awaken the first morning after relinquishing her maidenhood to a world full of flowers, sunshine and birdsongs.

_Life is not a song_. She had learned that lesson tenfold. So she didn't know why she was still a little surprised to wake up alone after the night she and the Hound had shared. Everything had changed between them, and yet, nothing truly had. He was still afraid.

Sansa sat up in bed, finding herself still wrapped in his dark cloak. Her cheeks flushed red with shame when she looked down and realized there was a stain of dried blood on his cloak. Her blood. The proof of what she had given him last night. It seemed very common and unseemly to have slept all night wrapped up in the evidence. She shrugged out of the cloak and her nightdress with its now frayed and useless laces, kicking them under her bed, and hurrying to her washbasin to clean the dried blood off her inner thighs.

Once she washed her skin clean, she looked up at herself in the mirror, standing naked before her own reflection. Her bare body seemed different to her now. She ran her hands down her neck, over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, and it was as though she could feel him touching her again. She was still markedly sore between her legs. He could run away and hide all he wanted—there was no denying what they had done.

Finally she turned away from the mirror, slipping her ornate red and gold Lannister dressing robe over her shoulders. It was one of Tyrion's many extravagant gifts to her, and as she fastened it closed, she waited to feel the crushing sense of guilt she would expect wearing her husband's family cloak after a night of passionately betraying her marriage vows. But the guilt she did feel was more vague and formless—she knew she shouldn't have done it. But she kept imagining more what her mother would think of her actions rather than Tyrion.

Sansa had never felt truly connected to her husband, on any level—mentally, physically, anything. So it was hard to dread his reaction to her infidelity when she wasn't even certain what his reaction would be. The mind of Tyrion was entirely a mystery to her, as she suspected hers was to him.

They were passing over unsteady road now, and the relentless rain was still pounding down on the roof of the wagon and making their path slick. It would be a miserable day for riding. Sansa crossed to the small barred window of her wagon, looking out to the gray, rainy day to find that Sandor was astride his horse again, riding along beside the wagon, his dark hair and clothes soaked through.

Almost as if he felt her eyes on him, the Hound turned his head towards the wagon, brown eyes meeting blue. She didn't smile, and he didn't smile back. _We have no honor now, neither one of us_, Sansa thought, her hands tightening on the bars of her window. She was the first to look away. He'd been the first to leave this morning, so it only seemed fair.

She didn't feel hungry at all that day, so when their traveling party stopped for dinner, a sleepy Sansa had stayed in bed, just listening to the rain and dozing in and out of sleep.

After dinner, in the midst of one of her deeper slumbers, she felt him at the foot of her bed before she was even really awake. Sansa opened her eyes and sat up, seeing him shrouded in shadows, his expression impossible to read. She didn't ask questions. She didn't need to, just as she'd never needed to ask why he left King's Landing. He was frightened again, only this time of a very different, perhaps more deadly, fire. Sansa slid herself forward to the foot of the bed and sat up to unbuckle his sword belt, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter as she rose up to her knees, her hands on his shoulders as he wordlessly leaned down to her, turning his head and kissing her long, slender neck, his lips searing her skin as he started to push her robe off one shoulder.

"Your Lannister robe?" He mumbled the words against the skin of her neck, his hands clenched in the fine red fabric and gold embroidery.

"Yes. My prison uniform." Sansa said, suddenly hating the heavy, itchy fabric more than ever. "Ruin it." Her hands slid to his chest, down his chained mail overshirt. "Ruin me. Again."

He removed her robe and kissed her on the mouth this time, holding her face in his massive hands as they fell back to the bed together, and committed their sin again, and several more times afterwards.

This time he stayed with her in the bed, the Lannister robe across both their naked bodies as they looked up at the ceiling.

"This can't last." Sansa finally spoke, sounding slightly dazed. "Nothing could feel like this, and last."

He nodded. "When we reach King's Landing…"

"I know. It's over then." She finished for him glumly. "But we still have four more days."

The Hound's mouth twisted into something that almost looked like a true smile. "That we do, little bird."

She climbed on top of him, her hands tangling in the dark coarse hair that covered his chest. "You once told me that killing is the sweetest thing there is."

The Hound's brow furrowed. "Did I? Gods. You should have told me to go fuck myself."

"I wanted to. It was a horrible thing to say." She grinned, leaning down towards him. "So have you still found nothing you love better than dealing death?"

The scent of her hair and skin flooded his nostrils when she was this close, and he never got around to answering her question with words.

_Five Days Later_

_The Morning of Cersei's Dinner_

TYRION

"Well done, Tommen!" Tyrion clapped heartily, Jaime feigning a deathly injury and falling to the ground as his thirteen year old son stood over him proudly with a tipped practice sword.

"You're dead, Uncle Jaime." Tommen pronounced, looking to Brienne. "How was that?"

She fought down a smile, trying to remain an impassive instructor. "Better. Much better. Bold offensive moves. That's your strength for sure. But your footwork is messy. And your recovery's slow between blocking."

Jaime smiled at Tyrion, nodding his head towards Tommen. The boy was hanging onto Brienne's every word. He had only met "Uncle Jaime's friend" three days ago, but Tommen had taken to following her everywhere.

Jaime had been horrified to discover that his son hadn't been training in swordplay, and he had tasked Brienne to assist him in a crash course. The Queen had done everything in her power to make Tommen more of her little companion than a fierce warrior, but Jaime was pleased to discover he did have some natural talent.

Brienne started to show Tommen more effective footwork for a blow, and Jaime sat down next to his brother, letting out a long, contented breath. Surrounded by his brother, his son, and his best friend—what more could he ask for? The past few days had been some of the happiest of his life. Tyrion's wife still hadn't arrived in King's Landing, and Cersei had ominously not shown her face for days, so the Lannister brothers had gotten to spend more time together in the past week than they had in years.

"Tommen seems very taken with your friend." Tyrion clasped his hands together against his chest with a small smile. "Tell me, Jaime, is this affection a family trait?"

Jaime's brow furrowed as he turned to Tyrion. "Can you ever just come right out and ask a question, little brother?"

"All right. I will come right out and ask. The question on everyone in the kingdom's mind lately, it seems." Tyrion mouthed his next four words so Tommen wouldn't hear. "_Are you fucking her_?"

Jaime's cheeks flushed slightly red. "I don't see why that's kingdom-worthy news. It's not a crime, you know."

"Unlike your previous exploits." Tyrion shrugged, and when Jaime's eyes narrowed, he hurried on, keeping his voice low. "Don't misunderstand me, dear brother. People are curious because they like the idea. Cersei losing her most precious prize to Brienne the Beauty? It's just too good."

"I didn't mean for any of this to hurt Cersei." Jaime sighed wearily.

"So that's just a fortunate byproduct of your new love affair?"

Jaime ran a hand through his messy blond hair, giving no direct answer. "Are you ready for our family dinner tonight?"

"Yes, I suppose. If we're even still having one. No one's seen Cersei for days." Tyrion drummed his fingers on his chest.

"I heard that." Jaime looked around them, almost as if he expected Cersei to jump out from behind a pillar in the courtyard at any moment. "I mean, I knew she wouldn't be happy about Brienne and me, but…what did she expect? That I'd just pine for her forever?"

"Of course that's what she expected." Tyrion laughed. "How did she even find out about you and Brienne? Did you tell her? And if so, why didn't you allow me to be privy to that particular conversation?"

"She discovered us. In my bedchamber."

Jaime had never seen Tyrion looked so pleased. "_Really_? Do tell, brother. What'd Cersei do? Shoot wildfire out of her tits?"

"Nothing so interesting. That was the strangest part. She barely said anything. She just…left."

Tyrion winced slightly. "I've found that when it comes to women, silence can be far more deadly than shouting. Are you bringing Brienne to the dinner tonight?"

"I don't know if I should subject her to such a thing." Jaime looked nervous. "But then, I don't want to tell her she can't go either. She's not afraid of Cersei. And Brienne's a warrior. What could our sister really do to her?"

"War between women is usually a far more delicate matter than swords and shields. They have weapons all their own, Jaime, you know this."

Jaime sat forward slightly, his hands on his knees as he watched Tommen laughing merrily at something Brienne had told him. "I never meant to make such a mess of things."

"Don't look so downtrodden, brother. I'm proud of you. Cersei's too far gone to love anyone, even her rotten self. It was high time you found someone else."

"I know. I know." Jaime shook his head. "I just don't want Brienne to suffer for my sins."

"All the people we Lannisters love must suffer for our sins, it seems. The sins he's passed down to us." Tyrion couldn't actually the speak the word "father" out loud again, resting his hand on his brother's massive, muscled shoulder.

"I just want to keep her safe." Jaime watched Brienne play wrestling with his son.

"Because you love her?" Tyrion asked simply.

But Jaime said nothing in response, climbing to his feet and pulling his son back up off the ground, ruffling his blond hair. "Never yield, Tommen. Not to anyone. Remember that."

"Never, Uncle Jaime?"

Jaime looked right at Brienne. "Never."

SANSA

"Your presence is requested at the Queen's dinner, my lady." The Hound bowed as he entered Sansa's bedchamber. When she turned to face him, his breath caught in his throat. Sansa was standing before him in a silk formal gown, so dark green it almost looked black, dark make-up around her eyes, the dress cut low to display her pushed-up, corseted breasts, her hands on her hips as she looked back at him with a smile. Sandor closed the door behind him, leaning back against it. "You look very beautiful, my lady."

"And you look very handsome in your armor." Sansa crossed to him, her hands resting on the breastplate.

"Handsome?" He snorted with laughter.

"Kiss me." She breathed out.

He tilted her chin up with his finger, obliging her request rather chastely considering what they had been doing (fairly ceaselessly) for the past four days and nights on the Kingsroad. But ever since they had arrived in King's Landing, he'd stayed completely away from her, just as he'd promised. _That damned honor of his again_, Sansa thought with a sigh.

She guided his other hand beneath the silk material of her dress to touch her bare breast, his eyes sliding closed as she kissed the side of his neck. "Do you miss me at night, Ser Clegane?"

"Of course, little bird. Of course I do." He breathed out before he could stop himself, gently massaging her breast until Sansa let out a sound of very unladylike pleasure, The Hound kissing her lips again, much more passionately this time.

When they broke apart for breath a long while later, Sansa's chest was heaving up and down with exertion, her nipples clearly erect and visible through the thin material of her gown. "I need you," she murmured, "I need you inside of me. Now."

The Hound held her out at arm's length. "Stop. Stop talking like that, or I'll rip your pretty new dress to ribbons to get it off of you."

"My wardrobe is never going to survive this romance, is it?" Sansa laughed, starting to unbuckle his belt, but the Hound stopped her.

"Dinner. We…We have to go down to dinner. The Queen's waiting."

"I don't care about her dinner." Sansa rolled her eyes. "Not when there's so many more interesting things we could be doing…"

"Sansa." His grip tightened on her arms, using her name for the first time she could ever remember, belying a new level of intimacy between them that thrilled her. "I must escort you to dinner. Where your husband and the queen presumably wait for us already."

Sansa sighed heavily. "Yes, Tyrion will be there, won't he?"

"Of course he will. And so will you. Come along, child."

"How can you still call me that? After everything we've done?" She raised her eyebrows, her voice high and panicked, getting a very bad feeling that the best thing in her life could be coming to an end if she allowed things to just fall back to the way they were before.

"Force of habit." He turned and led the way out the door, Sansa begrudgingly following behind him.

They walked quickly down the very narrow, winding staircase, The Hound in front of Sansa, until the heel of her shoe caught on the long hem of her dress and she tripped, letting out a small gasp as she fell forward. The Hound turned automatically at the sound of her distress, catching her by the shoulders and pinning her back against the cold stone wall to stop her from falling.

"Careful, little bird."

They looked at each other for a long, tense moment, their quarters so tight and confined that his back was brushing one wall as hers was pressed against the other. Sansa opened her mouth to say she was fine, that he should stop being so protective even though she secretly loved it, but suddenly, his eyes hungrily scanning her face, his willpower seemed to falter and his mouth was hard against hers, their lips both parting almost immediately at the force of the impact, their tongues tangling together with a practice borne of only a few days that had somehow felt like a whole other lifetime they'd spent together. The warm night outside and the cramped quarters of the staircase made it almost unbearable to be clothed as they embraced furiously, panting like the animals they allowed themselves to become in these stolen, secret moments. Soon, he had shoved her skirts up around her hips and thrust hard inside her, Sansa's head falling back against the wall as she groaned with pleasure and he let out a now-familiar guttural sound that she took great pride in bringing out of him. They made all the noise they wanted as they made love—this part of the castle had been set aside specifically for her, and everyone else would already be at dinner.

Afterwards, they didn't say a word, The Hound lowering her back to her feet, Sansa smoothing down her skirts, despite the fact that the silk material of her dress was now hopelessly wrinkled, a pronounced flush still visible on her neck and chest, both smiling like fools as they walked the rest of the short way down the staircase to the next floor.

They emerged to find Bronn standing just outside the staircase, looking between them, his eyes narrowed with anger. Sansa stopped short, forcing a pleasant smile onto her lips. "Bronn! Whatever are you doing here?"

He pressed his lips together, and she saw it in his expression. He knew. He'd heard everything. It was written all over his face. "Lord Tyrion bid me to come here and ask if you would like to accompany him down to dinner."

Sansa cleared her throat, The Hound staying completely silent beside her, every muscle in their bodies tensed as she went on. "W-Where is my husband now?"

"Still in his chambers." Bronn seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth. "What answer shall I give him, my _lady_?"

"Tell him I wouldn't want him to hurry on my account. Tell him just to join me at dinner." She smiled airily. "Now if you'll excuse us…" She hurried past Bronn, the Hound following behind her without a word.

"Worked up an appetite, have you?" Bronn called after them.

Sansa stopped, turning back around, ice in her eyes. "Remember your place."

Bronn shook his head. "Tyrion's whore wife was more of a lady than you."

The Hound spun around, drawing out his massive broadsword and reaching Bronn in two long strides, pressing the steel against his throat. "Apologize."

Bronn laughed, a small, sad laugh. "Why is that every time we meet, you end up threatening to kill me? I have no feud with you."

"Apologize to the lady, or I fuck you with this sword." The Hound growled.

"You really know your way around a colorful threat, Clegane." Bronn twisted out of The Hound's grasp, Sandor's fighting instincts still a little dimmed by his very pleasurable distraction of moments ago. Bronn put a safe distance between himself and the Hound before looking back to Sansa. "I'll tell Lord Tyrion you wish him to come down alone and join you at the Queen's table."

"And what else will you tell him?" Sansa asked carefully.

"Your sins are your own to confess, Lady Stark." Bronn muttered, taking his leave.

The Hound and Sansa exchanged a brief, nervous glance before silently making their way down to dinner.

JAIME

"You're not dressed for dinner?" Jaime joined Brienne in the bedchamber. He already looked like the shining white knight of his King's Landing days of old in his freshly polished Kingsguard armor, freshly bathed and smooth-shaven, his golden hair and skin practically gleaming. He looked like he belonged in a lexicon of children's storybooks under the heading of "fairytale prince."

But Brienne looked nowhere near ready, just sitting on the edge of the bed in a white men's dressing shirt and tan breeches, staring down at a dress box in her lap with a miserable expression on her face. Jaime joined her, sitting beside her on the bed, his hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Your sister's…broken her silence. She's sent me a gift. To wear to dinner." Brienne shoved the box into his lap. "A gown from her royal dressmaker. Made just for me."

"That was kind of her." Jaime shrugged, pulling the dress out of the box. It seemed a rather simple green and gold dress, and he didn't see what there was to be so upset about. As far as Cersei's treatment of her enemies was concerned, he thought Brienne was getting off very easy indeed.

Brienne pressed her lips together for a moment, shaking her head. When Jaime looked at her again, he was shocked to see her dark blue eyes were filled with tears. "What is it?" he asked.

"She…she knows I can't wear it. I could never…never fit into such a thing." Brienne was blushing so furiously even her earlobes had turned red.

"Have you even tried it on?"

"Why would I do that, Jaime?" Brienne's voice was shaking as she ripped the box out of his hands, throwing it to the ground. "So you can laugh at me too? Just like her?" She looked at his innocent expression for a moment, shaking her head with a laugh. "Seven hells, are you really this stupid or are you just still on her side?"

Jaime's jaw twitched slightly with anger at the insult, remembering all the times his father and countless tutors had called him slow or stupid for not being able to read or write as quickly or as well as Cersei and Tyrion. "Wear the dress. Don't wear the dress. Show up stark naked if you want. I don't really give a damn. But if you don't come to the diner, Cersei will name you a coward. And I won't think her entirely wrong."

He climbed to his feet, stalking out of the bedchamber and down to Cersei's dinner by himself, leaving Brienne to stare at the dress as it lay crumpled on the ground, her entire body trembling with anger and humiliation and fear, those scraps of silk fabric more terrifying to her than any enemy she'd ever faced on a battle field.

TYRION

When Tyrion entered his sister's royal dining chamber, Cersei was already seated at the head of the table. She seemed to have regained her strength from her brief sojourn into solitude—she had never looked more beautiful, the candlelight illuminating her tanned skin and green eyes, her blond hair twisted back and up off her thin bare shoulders, dressed in a silk gown of Lannister red, talking quietly with Jaime seated on her right side, a silent Sansa seated on her left. There was an empty seat next to both Jaime and Sansa, and Bronn and The Hound were standing guard side by side at the door with the rest of the waiting staff standing by them as well.

"Beloved siblings! And my lovely wife!" Tyrion crossed to Sansa, kissing her hand as he sat down beside her. "I trust you had an enjoyable journey to King's Landing without me."

"It was very pleasant, thank you." Sansa said in her usual monotone. But something seemed very different about her. Her hair looked slightly disheveled. Her dark silk dress was wrinkled around her hips. And she smelled of…there was really no nice way to say it…sex. Tyrion didn't know whether to be offended or laugh out loud. He twisted around in his seat to look at the most likely culprit, but The Hound looked as emotionless as ever, certainly not like a man who'd recently had the pleasure of a woman. The Hound did have a hell of a poker face though. As did Sansa. Despite the mounting evidence of her sins, she continued to smile pleasantly at her husband.

But suddenly, Tyrion was distracted from suspicions of his wife's infidelity by the arrival of the last member of their dinner party—Brienne of Tarth. Wearing a dress.

Everyone was stunned into silence for a moment, before Cersei finally spoke, her full lips curving into a cruel smile. "I see you received my present."

"Yes. Thank you, Your Grace. You're very kind." Brienne practically grunted out the words.

Tyrion looked at his older brother mostly because he couldn't bear to look at Brienne behaving so awkwardly, and he found Jaime's expression very hard to read. Jaime almost looked guilty, as if he'd been the one who'd put her in the dress. The gown didn't fit Brienne at all, and Cersei had the finest tailors in the world at her disposal, so the bad fit was clearly intentional. It was too tight across Brienne's massive, muscled shoulders and thighs, and it curved in at the waist, clearly intended for a woman who wore a corset though Brienne did no such thing. It was about three inches too short at the ankles, obviously not made for someone of Brienne's massive height, and the green color had the unfortunate effect of making Brienne's long, straight figure look like a vegetable stalk.

There was a long silence before Brienne stomped her way into the seat next to Jaime, collapsing into it, the sound of seams stretching almost to ripping across her shoulders and thighs very apparent in the heavy silence that Cersei allowed to stretch on and on as they were served their food, the queen taking a long sip of her wine, considering Brienne like a spider would consider prey spun and trapped in a web.

"You should always bow before your Queen. I suppose they don't bother to teach you proper royal etiquette in…where are you from, again? Remind me." Cersei asked Brienne with false politeness.

"Tarth." Brienne said shortly.

"Ah, yes. Tarth. A coastal village, is it not?" Cersei wrinkled her nose slightly. "My father visited there once. Told me the whole place smelled of rotting fish."

Brienne said nothing, staring down at her food, her cheeks flushing bright red, Tyrion reminded of Cersei's particular talent for humiliating her perceived enemies. Her wrath seemed especially cruel when aimed at Brienne though, who clearly did not have the quick tongue to respond in kind.

"Some of father's best men were recruited from Tarth." Jaime said quickly to Brienne before giving Cersei a rather cold look, seemingly starting to feel more and more protective of his friend the more and more Cersei attacked her. "And clearly my sister doesn't remember the proper royal etiquette for receiving guests."

"She is no guest of mine." Cersei laughed.

"That's right. She's my guest. And I saved your life not one week ago, so I really don't think you have any room to be complaining about anything I do or friend I bring to your table." Jaime looked up at his sister defiantly while Brienne seemed to want to climb under the table and die, her cheeks now so red that Tyrion imagined they must be burning hot to the touch.

"Dear sister." Tyrion interrupted the love triangle that seemed to fast be approaching a violent end. "In your letter, you wrote of wanting to tell me something. Some kind of apology, I believe."

Sansa, Jaime, even Bronn, and The Hound all looked very close to laughing out loud at the look on Cersei's face as she slowly turned to Tyrion. It would not have been surprising if the ends of her hair started smoking. She was gripping her knife and fork so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

Jaime smiled fleetingly at Tyrion before looking to his sister. "Our little brother has a point, Cersei. It's time to hold up your end of our bargain."

Cersei took a long swallow of wine before sighing very histrionically and turning to Tyrion. She spoke very slowly, as if each word was causing her physical pain. "I know now that you did not murder my son."

"Go on." Jaime prodded her. "Everyone here didn't come all of this way for nothing, I trust."

Cersei rolled her eyes, staring down at her hands and mumbling under her breath. "I'm sorry."

"Like you mean it." Jaime shoved her with his shoulder, the Lannister brothers grinning at each other.

Cersei looked up at Tyrion, speaking more clearly. "I'm sorry, baby brother." She clasped her hands together very tightly. "I…I was wrong."

"One more time please?" Tyrion cupped his hand around his ear. "I want to make a memory of this for all time."

Jaime's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter as Cersei cast him another withering look before turning back to Tyrion. "Remember it well. Because you'll never hear it from me again."

"Oh, I know that." Tyrion was laughing delightedly as well.

"I was wrong." Cersei said, and as she and Tyrion looked at each other for a brief, strange moment, Cersei's smile almost turned genuine, and he could almost believe she meant her apology—that she was actually glad to be back among her family. That maybe she'd even missed Tyrion in some miniscule hidden corner of her ice-cold heart.

Jaime put his arm around his sister's thin shoulders, smiling almost proudly at her, everyone else in the room seemingly forgotten, feeling almost as though he, Cersei, and Tyrion were children again. "Now was that so difficult?"

"Oh, stop looking so pleased with yourself. Although that is what you do best." Cersei smoothed Jaime's bangs back off his forehead. "It's not like you and Tyrion can make this play more than once."

"Oh, come now, Cersei. I'm sure you'll do something else that will make everyone in King's Landing want to cut your head off again." Tyrion snickered, Sansa coughing slightly when she took too long a swallow of wine, alerting Tyrion and Jaime that they had other guests at this dinner.

Jaime removed his arm from around his sister's shoulders, casting his eyes guiltily to Brienne who was still staring determinedly at her plate. Jaime looked across the table at Tyrion. "So, do you and Sansa plan on staying in King's Landing long?"

"I'm not sure. Dear wife," Tyrion turned to Sansa, "do we plan on staying in King's Landing long?"

Sansa, who had been resting her chin in her hand and staring almost longingly at the door, snapped back to reality, affixing her false pleasant smile on her face. "I am here as long as my husband wishes me to be here with him, of course."

Tyrion held up his hands, almost looking like he was about to laugh again. "Of course." He took a bite of dinner before motioning with his fork towards Jaime and Brienne. "What about you two? Staying here long?"

Jaime and Brienne finally looked at each other for the first time since she had arrived at dinner, and it was an oddly charged moment. It was as though Jaime was literally suspended between his old life with Cersei on one side of himself and the new life he had been building with Brienne on the other.

"You _two_?" Cersei interrupted the moment between Jaime and Brienne, setting down her drink. "Please. Satisfy everyone's curiosity. What exactly is happening with…" she drunkenly motioned to Brienne, "…that?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question." Jaime said, his eyebrows going together as Brienne stared back at the table, gripping the edge of the tabletop with her hands as if to distract herself.

"Neither do I, dear sister." Tyrion took another bite of his dinner. "You already know they're fucking each other. What more information do you require?"

Sansa choked slightly on her wine again.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearest." Tyrion gave Sansa a rather cold look. "Have I offended your delicate sensibilities?"

"What exactly do you want to know, Cersei?" Jaime brought the question back to his sister.

"I'd actually like to direct the question to your friend Brienne, if I might." Cersei ran her tongue over her teeth, smiling as she looked at Brienne's beet red face giving an unflattering contrast against the bright green color of the dress. "You should look at your Queen when she addresses you, Brienne of Tarth."

Brienne gripped the edge of the table even more tightly, forcing herself to look up, Brienne's dark blue eyes finally meeting Cersei's light green ones. Two of the most powerful women in the Seven Kingdoms, with such different but equally deadly abilities, both in love with the same man, currently sitting right in between them. The moment was so tense and the air so thick as they stared at each other that no one else in the room even dared to move.

"Tell me, Brienne," Cersei finally spoke, "how does it feel to be the hole Jaime fucks when he can't have me?"

For a moment, it just seemed like Brienne was going to sit there and take the insult, like she took most insults, but she didn't. Everything that happened next seemed to happen very fast. Brienne rose out of her chair so fast that she knocked it over, her dress ripping at the shoulders as she pushed past Jaime and grabbed Cersei by the throat, bodily lifting her out of her chair and slamming her up against the wall.

"How's this for royal etiquette, Your Grace?" Brienne growled, her hands tightening on Cersei's throat.

Cersei gasped for breath, struggling to pry Brienne's powerful grasp off of her neck. "Get your hands off of me, you crazy bitch—" she choked out, her vision swimming alarmingly as the back of her head dripped blood down the stone from the significant head injury she'd suffered when Brienne had slammed her into the wall.

The Hound remained motionless, as did a stunned Jaime and Sansa, but Bronn and Tyrion exchanged a look, and Tyrion gave him a small nod. As much as it amused him to finally see Cersei get what was coming to her, he didn't want his sister dead, and killing the queen would certainly do Brienne no favors.

Bronn drew out his sword, crossing to Brienne and speaking, it seemed, somewhat reluctantly. "Unhand her royal highness, my Lady."

Brienne suddenly seemed to remember herself, releasing Cersei who crumpled into a heap on the floor, clutching her bloody mass of blond hair, hand-shaped bruises already forming on her throat as she coughed for breath, looking up at Brienne with a gaze so furious it was almost electric. Brienne stumbled backwards slightly, looking down at her hands as if not knowing what they had just done.

And as Tyrion watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Jaime, operating from an instinct bred of decades passed, raced to his sister's side, cradling a weeping Cersei against his chest and whispering words of comfort to her.

Brienne stared at Jaime and Cersei for a long moment, her mouth going into a thin line.

"Get out!" Cersei shouted at Brienne, clutching Jaime tighter.

Jaime looked up at Brienne as he held his sister, his expression helpless as if to say Brienne had given him no choice but to go back to Cersei.

Brienne shook her head, tears filling her eyes, pulling at the ill-fitting, miserable dress until she literally ripped it off her body, left wearing only her breeches and a man's undershirt. She crumpled up the ruined dress and threw it on the ground. "I told you. I told you…you'll never be done with her." Brienne was barely able to speak, already choking on sobs, and even those who didn't know her well found it painful to watch as Brienne fled the room, tears slipping down Jaime's own cheeks as he watched her go, still holding his injured sister in his arms.

He wept for Brienne. But he didn't follow her.

"Bronn…could you give us a moment, please?" Sansa asked politely.

"Of course, my lady." Bronn bowed, trying to keep his expression free of dislike as he nodded to her and stepped outside.

The Hound had left to help Jaime take Cersei to the Maester for her "injuries", and now Tyrion and Sansa were left alone at the massive dining table.

"That was an interesting dinner." Tyrion raised his eyebrows, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Yes." Sansa said, licking her lips nervously.

"What's wrong, my pet? You seem…changed somehow." Tyrion turned to her.

"Perceptive as always, my lord." Sansa met his eyes, and for once, Tyrion thought he might be hearing her speaking in her true voice. "I am changed. Changed irrevocably. And I am very sorry if what I am about to say hurts you in any way. I feel as though even after these last three years as your wife, I barely know you at all, so I do not know if it will hurt you, but if it does, I am truly sorry."

"Say what you need to say, my dear." Tyrion waved his hand as if she should continue.

"I don't think you would disagree if I say that we have been a bad match from the beginning. I have never felt that I truly understand your mind, and, if I may speak frankly, I do not think you ever cared enough to try and understand mine."

"I never bore any ill will towards you, Sansa. And, if you will permit _me_ to speak frankly, you never gave me the chance to understand you." Tyrion sighed heavily. "But neither did I, to you. And you are correct. Clearly we have never been an ideal match. Continue."

Sansa swallowed hard. "I have harbored…feelings for another…for quite some time. Years. Actually since girlhood, though I do not think I fully understood it then. But I understand my feelings now. And…" her cheeks flushed very pink, "…those feelings led me to…to commit the sin of adultery against you, my husband, who has never shown me anything but kindness—a certain cold kindness, to be sure—but kindness, just the same." Her eyes filled with tears of shame which she quickly wiped away. "I'm so very sorry, Tyrion. I never thought I would become this kind of person. My family would be so ashamed of me. I'm so ashamed of myself. And I…I will accept whatever punishment or consequence you deem suitable for my actions."

Tyrion looked at her for a long moment, Sansa sniffling miserably and waiting for his sentencing. He spread his hands out on the table. "So…basically you and The Hound have been fucking each other senseless ever since I left you alone on the journey to King's Landing?"

"It's not like that, Tyrion. I mean…we have…I have been with him, but…I love him. With all my heart. And he loves me. When I'm not with him, I feel incomplete. Like…like I'm not fully myself anymore unless he's with me. Have you…have you ever felt that way about another person?"

"Yes, actually. And in the spirit of your shining example of total honesty between us…I still do feel that way about another person." Tyrion suddenly clasped his hands together, not elaborating further despite the curious furrowing of Sansa's brow. "Sansa Stark. Consider this me granting you your freedom. Our marriage was never consummated, and therefore is not truly valid or binding by any law of Westeros. I will have it officially annulled by the Queen Regent tomorrow morning. But consider it done. Go into the arms of the one you truly love tonight, and I will do the same."

"Who is the one you truly love?" Sansa couldn't help asking.

"Don't push your luck, my dear."

"Right, sorry." She rose to her feet, helping Tyrion do the same as Sansa still looked slightly stunned by his lack of reaction to her wrongdoing. "So you're….you're not angry with me?"

"How can I be angry with you for ending something that never started? Seems like an exercise in futility…especially when we both now seem to have much more interesting activities to occupy our time." Tyrion patted her arm. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to be your husband, but we'd both know I was lying. I will say that I appreciate your courage in coming to me with this now."

"I'm sorry that I wasn't a better wife." Sansa gave him a small curtsy, not knowing what else to do.

"Try and be a better one to him." Tyrion shrugged by way of advice, holding out his hand.

Sansa shook it soundly. "I will. I hope you're happy with the woman you love. I truly do."

"Good-bye, Sansa."

"Good-bye, Tyrion." She left him alone in the hallway, Tyrion barely waiting until she had rounded the corner until he sprinted off in the opposite direction as fast as his legs would carry him, away from the dining hall, away from the castle, away from his family, and towards the only thing, the only person he'd ever really wanted.

"Shae! Shae!" Tyrion was literally pounding on her door, knowing he was abandoning dignity altogether but finally ceding that needing to feel her, touch her, taste her had become so vital at this point he would have beaten the door down if he had to.

After what seemed like an interminable wait but had really been only a very short while, Shae came to the door, tying a dark purple dressing robe closed at her waist, clearly wearing nothing underneath, her dark curls messy and eyes slightly bleary. She'd clearly been sleeping. Naked. Tyrion suddenly felt like he needed to sit down.

Shae ran a hand through her hair, looking down at him with confusion. "What is it, my lion?"

Tyrion's words all came out in a rush. "I'm not married anymore. I don't ever want to be married to anyone but you, ever again. It's…it's always been you for me. I love you, with everything I have. So if you could ever even think of forgiving me…I'm yours. Forever."

Shae looked at him for a long silent moment before speaking, her voice oddly emotionless after such a passionate declaration. "Close the door."

Tyrion nodded, turning back to close and lock the door to her dress shop behind him. When he spun back around to face her, Shae had slipped her robe off her shoulders, the silky material pooling around her ankles as she revealed that Tyrion had been right. She hadn't been wearing anything underneath. Tyrion let out a long breath. There were a few weak candles still guttering out in their holders on the front tables of the store, but her olive skin was mostly illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the gauzy red curtains over the windows.

Neither of them spoke for a moment that seemed frozen in time, Tyrion's eyes hungrily taking in every inch of her still perfect body, feeling like a starving man finally taken to a feast who didn't even know where to begin. Shae, as always, had no such hesitation, bending down and taking his face in her hands. "Are you so out of practice that you don't even know what to do with a naked girl any longer?"

Tyrion smiled, placing his hands over hers as he leaned forward, gently kissing her. Their embrace quickly grew more passionate and before long, they made they way their way to the ground, Tyrion on his back in the middle of the main aisle with Shae straddling him. Shae practically ripped off his belt, casting it aside and undoing his pants, smiling when she saw how hard he was already.

"You have missed me then," she leaned over him, smiling against his mouth before she kissed him again, lowering herself further down on top of him, Tyrion grasping her hips as he entered her at last. Their mouths broke apart, both breathing in sharply—with relief, with pleasure, with surprise that something could still feel so familiar yet so good after so many years had passed. Shae began to move her hips against with a slow rolling motion as she spread her knees wider, letting him further inside as they began to fuck right there on the floor, Tyrion looking up at her with an awed expression, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts, Shae's eyes sliding closed as she leaned back on her hands and she could feel herself getting close, starting to rock her hips back and forth, harder and faster each time, Tyrion groaning her name, his voice shaking, his eyes closing as well, feeling like he might black out if she kept this up much longer, both needing this, craving each other, like a drug they'd both gone far too long without. He held out as long as he could, until it was inevitable, letting out a strangled cry as he came inside her, helping an already trembling Shae take that one last step over the edge with his hand between her legs, the sound of Shae crying out with release, once so familiar to him, now so incredibly missed and so long overdue that it was like music to his ears, making Tyrion feel like he was returning to himself somehow. Afterwards, Shae climbed off of him and collapsed beside him on the floor, both still breathing hard from the rush of the kind of orgasm they only seemed to be able to give each other, especially after going so long without anything at all.

Tyrion looked over at her, his hand on her cheek. "Still think I don't know what to do with a naked girl anymore?"

"I only said that because I know you respond well to a challenge, my lion." Shae grinned, rolling over onto her stomach to look at him, stroking his chest with her hand. "Gods, I've missed you."

He pushed himself up slightly, kissing her soundly. "I missed you too."

"Are we really crazy enough to try this again?" Shae said, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips.

"Why not?" Tyrion shrugged, the haze that always seemed to settle over his brain after making love to a beautiful woman clouding his thoughts significantly and making it very difficult to think about anything more complicated than when his body would cooperate and he would be ready for another go-round with Shae.

But Shae did seem to have more complicated things on her mind, looking troubled. "Before we decide anything…there is one more thing you should know. One more thing I haven't told you."

Tyrion struggled to make his brain work as he looked up at her. "Oh, gods. You're not married, are you?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

"You…well, we…you and I…"

"Shae. Just tell me."

"I have a daughter. From before. She's yours."

SANSA

Sansa found Sandor standing in her bedchamber window, staring out at the cloudless night. The moon was full and bright, shining off the armor he was still wearing, his massive arms crossed over his chest.

"Were the queen's injuries…very serious?" Sansa twisted her small, pale hands together nervously.

Sandor didn't seem surprised by her presence. He'd sensed her coming from halfway down the hallway. Years of combat and guard training had unusually heightened his senses to sounds and smells. Especially hers. _Like a dog_, he thought ruefully to himself, still not turning to face her.

"No. Just a small cut on the back of the head, and some bruising around the neck."

"She's clever. Just wanted her brother to stay with her instead of Brienne." Sansa sighed, grateful she was no longer Cersei's primary target. "Women have wars all their own, you know."

Sandor finally did turn to look at her, his gold Kingsguard cloak rustling softly. "I think women usually fight those kinds of wars over men like Jaime Lannister, not me, little bird."

"I told Tyrion everything."

Sandor was struck speechless for a moment. When he recovered, his voice seemed unsure, nervous. "And what did he say?"

"He seemed relieved. He's agreed to an annulment, since our marriage was never officially consummated. He's granted me my freedom."

Sandor nodded, running his hand along the sheathe of his sword. "I'm happy for you, little bird. Truly. And I'll take you wherever you'd like. Back to Winterfell. Somewhere else. I'd be honored to serve as your guard."

"My…my guard?" Sansa looked confused. "No, don't you understand? This…this means we can be together now. I told him how much we loved each other, and he gave us his blessing. We can do whatever we like. Go anywhere. Be anything we want. Be together always."

"You don't have to do this," he shook his head, "I gave you a way out. I was happy to do it. But you don't owe me anything now."

"How can you say that to me?" Sansa's eyes filled with tears. "We belong to each other now. I gave myself to you, and you gave yourself to me. Didn't that mean anything to you?"

"What are you saying, child? You want to marry me? An old, tired warrior with no war to fight and with a face most women couldn't bear to look at, even when I paid them?"

"Gods! Just stop! Are you out of your mind? I don't want to hear about other women you've been with! Have you forgotten everything we said to each other that night? Of course I want to marry you! But only if you want to marry me!" Sansa cried.

The Hound finally broke, crossing to her with two long strides and taking her face in his hands, wiping away the tears sliding down her smooth skin with his rough thumbs. "If any man in this world could look at you, look at your face, your body, and not want to marry you, I'd either call him a madman or a liar. But then again, if any man tried to take you away from me again, I'd split him open with a sword." He breathed out. "You're right, Sansa…you're always right. You said once that I'm the only one who ever tells you the truth. Well, you're the only one who ever makes me see it. We belong to each other now. It doesn't make any sense. No one else may ever understand it. But none of that matters."

"So what are you saying?" Sansa was still crying, but smiling through her tears.

The Hound smiled back, something most people would not believe possible. "Marry me. Save me. And I will fight for you forever."

Sansa was nodding, crying harder, before he even finished speaking. "Yes, yes, I'll marry you, right now, tonight…"

"Tonight?"

"Well, maybe not officially, Tyrion said he couldn't have it annulled until tomorrow morning…but as far as I'm concerned…the moment we ride out of the gates of King's Landing together, you're my husband, and I'm your wife."

"Where will we go?" The Hound lifted her up easily with one arm, Sansa happily wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Take me home. Back to Winterfell."

"Wherever you like, little bird."

Sansa leaned down to kiss him deeply. "I love you."

The Hound still seemed vastly uncomfortable whenever she made this admission, so Sansa tried not to take it too personally when he just wrapped his other arm around her and kissed her again instead of saying it back. He'd said it to her before (once, but still). His every action showed he loved her. And she also knew he was a man of few words, and apparently he had used up more than his allotment for the evening. They didn't make love again that night in King's Landing, wordlessly deciding to wait until they were well away from this awful place that held so many dark memories for them both. King's Landing was not where they wanted to begin their new life together, and definitely not where they wanted to spend their first night as husband and wife. Once the decision had been made for Winterfell, they just packed up a few necessities, made their way secretly down to the royal stables, The Hound wordlessly saddling up Stranger for them both before Sansa and Sandor disappeared together into the night.

JAIME

"Jaime?" Cersei rolled over in bed, blinking in the dim candlelight of her bedchamber.

Her brother was sitting at her bedside, his hands spread out on his knees, staring just past her, lost in thought until he heard her voice. Cersei sounded almost sweet, childlike, her long blond hair messy and her voice hoarse from sleep (and from nearly getting strangled).

Jaime reached out automatically, smoothing down her hair. "How are you feeling?"

Cersei leaned against his hand. "My head hurts. But I'll survive." She looked down to see that she was wearing a green silk nightdress. Cersei smiled slightly. "Did you change my clothes?"

"I did."

"Just like old times." She sat back against her pillow. "Though I rather wish I'd been conscious for that part."

"Why? What would you have done?" Jaime looked at her for a long moment, and when Cersei reached forward, grabbing him by the chainmail under his breastplate and forcefully pulling him on top of her on bed, he didn't protest or pull away, but it was like he couldn't even really feel her lips against his or her tongue in his mouth as her embrace grew more insistent, Cersei opening her dress, her perfect breasts pressed up against the hard steel of his breastplate.

"Your armor's cold…" Cersei mumbled against his mouth, smiling. Jaime didn't say anything in return, and didn't make any move to undress her or himself any further, kissing her back more out of habit than actual desire, guilt over what he had done to Brienne (and what he was doing now) about to overwhelm him to the point that he felt like he was about to burst into tears. Clearly, Cersei's injuries weren't too severe, as she was still able to expertly undo the straps and buckles of his armor with focus and clarity that seemed impossible for someone who had suffered as grave a head injury as she had claimed.

"I knew you still wanted me more than that beast…" Cersei undid his breastplate, finally throwing it aside.

"Shut up, Cersei," Jaime growled.

"Just say it. I fucked you better than she ever could." Cersei said, starting to unbuckle his belt as she kissed his neck.

"I said, shut up."

"You were the best I ever had." Cersei said, her lips against his ear.

"What, better than Robert? I don't take that as a massive accomplishment." Jaime scoffed.

"Better than all of them," Cersei muttered without thinking, pulling his face back to hers to kiss him.

But Jaime caught her by the shoulders, holding her back. "All of them?"

Cersei laughed airily, realizing her error, and trying to play it off. "Well, my love, you were gone for a long time…"

"How many other men were there?"

Cersei said nothing, swallowing hard.

Jaime shook her slightly. "How many?"

Cersei pulled away from him, closing her robe and covering her breasts. "Oh, don't be such a fucking hypocrite! I practically walk in on you with your cock inside that monster not one week ago, and you're angry with me for sleeping with other men while you were gone for years without a word home to me? What were you expecting? Did you think I would just wait for you forever?"

"I did wait for you. For most of my life, I waited for you. Before Brienne, you were the only woman I'd ever been with. And you gave me absolutely nothing in return but scorn and betrayal until you needed a favor. So I stopped waiting. I fell in love with someone else, Cersei. Can you honestly tell me the same thing ever happened to you with those other men?"

Cersei's green eyes practically iced over as she considered Jaime. "Love?" She laughed cruelly. "Love only exists in stories, dear brother. If you still believe otherwise, then father was right about you. You are a fool."

Jaime climbed off of her, getting to his feet, feeling a profound sadness but also a distinct sense of relief as a kind of peace settled over him as he looked at Cersei and felt nothing for her. He had stumbled, like a drunkard returning to the bottle he knows could kill him, but he had not fallen. Not fully. He had finally seen Cersei for the cold, hard woman she had truly become, and that was not the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

"Goodbye, Cersei." Jaime nodded to her, gathering his clothes and getting redressed before walking out of her bedchamber. Cersei rolled her eyes and leaned back against her pillows, thinking to herself that he'd be back in the morning, that he'd come back like always.

But he wasn't coming back. For once, he didn't find himself plagued by second thoughts. Jaime made his way down the stairs of the castle, his speed increasing with his growing conviction, passing one of the guards, stopping and grabbing him by the arms. "Brienne…my friend…where has she gone?"

The guard didn't feign ignorance of palace gossip, knowing exactly whom Jaime was talking about. "She rode south, Ser Jaime. Through the Kingswood."

"Towards Tarth. She's going home." Jaime sighed. "Thank you."

He promptly packed his things and ran down to the stables, ordering a squire to prepare his horse Glory, riding off South down the Kingsroad, tracking Brienne's movements with knowledge bred from years of serving as her traveling companion, figuring that he was only a few hours behind her, and Glory was one of the fastest steeds in the Seven Kingdoms, so he could gain ground quickly.

Jaime rode straight through the night, hunger and exhaustion starting to blur all the trees and rivers together, but it finally paid off in the very early morning when he found a tent with Brienne's horse tethered outside.

He almost stumbled dismounting Glory, so tired he felt like he was about to pass out, but he moved towards the tent, needing to see Brienne, needing to make things right…

But suddenly, Brienne stepped out of the tent, fully dressed and with her pack slung over her shoulder. When she saw Jaime standing there, she stopped in shock, hurt and anger immediately replacing surprise in her dark blue eyes.

"What…h-how did you…" Brienne stammered.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for everything. I—"

"Stop. Just stop." Brienne shook her head with disgust. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. Ever again."

"Brienne—"

"There's a massive force flying the Baratheon stag as their sigil and moving towards King's Landing through the Kingswood. They're still far enough away to not have spotted me when I saw their fires last night, but they're surely on the move again now. I have no idea which Baratheon is leading them, but they've planned this well. No one in the capitol has any idea. There's thousands in the attacking army, Jaime. Your sister…your brother…your son…their people…they won't be prepared for the attack. If we don't get word to them, they'll all die."

Before Jaime could say a word in response, an arrow came whizzing over their heads, sticking cleanly in the tree over Jaime's shoulder. Both Jaime and Brienne drew their swords, practically in unison, turning to see a group of about ten soldiers holding Baratheon shields scaling the rocks surrounding her small camp.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, but I think they've spotted us now." Jaime muttered to her, turning so he and Brienne were back-to-back.

Brienne rolled her eyes, shoving him hard with her shoulder. "Focus, Kingslayer."

A/N- Until next time! Last chapter! Jaime and Brienne must learn to work together even when she's barely speaking to him, Arya and Gendry lead the Baratheon force into King's Landing, and we see what becomes of Cersei, Shae and Tyrion (and their growing brood), and Sansa and The Hound…reviews are wonderful!


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